From Ember to Flame
by Brynneth
Summary: Zevran teaches a sheltered Circle mage about sensuality, and she teaches him about love and freedom.  Follows the Origins timeline and contains explicit material.  NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: Painting a Canvas

_**A/N:** This was the first story I ever wrote, and I found myself looking back over it recently, only to be shocked at how many errors I made. It's always amazing to compare your first work with what you write currently; you can see what you have improved as well as what you still need to improve. So I cleaned up the first few chapters, which were written before I had a beta, but overall, I left it very much the same. I wanted to keep the unpolished aspect of it to remind me of how I used to write, so I apologize for its crudeness. Thanks for reading!_

There really was no end to the blood-stained robes that needed cleaning. And the _stench_. No matter how long she spent scrubbing at the dried blood, she never felt like it was truly clean. Yet every night before bed, she tried to scrape the nasty red stains off, needing to wash away the memories of the hideous darkspawn with their twisted mouths gaping and their screeching cries. Today's battle had ended with few injuries, praise the Maker. But she still felt utterly weary and drained, a hollow shell going through the motions of her nightly routine. _Why can't there be some spell I could cast that would instantly clean things?_

There was a light scratch at her tent entrance and Zevran entered, ducking his head. Ever graceful, he dropped fluidly into a cross-legged position across the small fire from her. His gaze settled on the bloodied robe on her lap, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Ah, so this is what occupies you so completely in here? Had I known you enjoyed cleaning so much, I would have brought my own armor for your attentions. Although to be truthful, I would prefer those attentions directed toward _me_." He grinned slyly and moved to a sitting position behind her.

Emberlin smiled and dropped her eyes to the gray robe. She had finally allowed Zevran into her tent four weeks ago, but it was still difficult for her to openly flirt in the manner that came so easily to the blond elf. The many lessons learned in the Circle did not include instruction in the art of sexual wordplay. Not that she had been a virgin when Zevran came to her bed. Circle mages had long discovered ways to be discreet when certain needs arose, and several men had sought her attention. But while the experiences had been pleasant enough, they had always seemed lacking. Each encounter had been a hurried and fairly routine affair. She had longed for more, never knowing exactly _what_ until Zevran.

Even now, she wasn't sure why she had spared the assassin. Perhaps it was his openness in answering her questions, the way he had managed that light, amused tone, despite the pain from his wounds. Then there was his obvious wish to be free from the Crows, which she completely understood. How long had she wished to be free from the Circle and the ever-present eyes of the Templars? The taste of freedom was more addictive than any drug. How could she refuse him the same?

At first, he was so difficult to read, always ready with humor and a laugh, yet also watchful. She often caught him silently studying the party members intently as if memorizing their personalities. He deflected most questions about his past with a joke and kept his true thoughts hidden behind cloaked, amber eyes. When she had finally approached him one night and asked him about his adventures, he smiled and related amusing anecdotes of various missions he had performed. Of course he had flirted, just as he did with everyone in the party, except for the dog. But strangely, his blatant offers to assist her with any _needs_ did not offend her. She could easily see that it was an act. That underneath it all was a man hesitantly feeling his way with a new group, trying to sense how best to fit in.

It became a habit each night after dinner to spend time talking together, not about their mission and not about the Blight, for it was good to talk about other things. Wynne always wished to lecture her on what she should be doing. Sten was like a stone, cold and silent. Alistair was friendly and chatty enough, but she had a difficult time relating to him about anything outside of the Wardens. She had taken a liking to Leliana, but sometimes her rambling chatter wore Emberlin's ears out. And Morrigan tended to isolate herself from the group. She was not unfriendly but obviously preferred solitude. With Zevran, there were no pressures or worries, and he seemed genuinely interested her past. If she displayed discomfort in discussing certain painful memories, he did not press but tactfully changed the subject, and she did the same for him. It was obvious that he had endured many excruciating trials. He brushed lightly on being raised with the Crows, offering small glimpses of the stark loneliness and terrible atrocities he had endured, but he never dwelled long enough on those stories for her to offer sympathy or pity. He glossed over his past with smooth words, but his eyes showed a glimmer of the pain he had suffered. His courage was admirable and drew her to him even more. Finally, one night he had offered her an Antivan massage, and she had accepted, her need for a friend outweighing any remaining wariness she had of him.

She felt him slip a hand up the back of her neck and into her hair. Rough fingers dragged against her scalp and fisted into her dark, wavy tresses, pulling her head back against his chest. Her heartbeat fluttering, she tilted her face back and met his searching lips with her own. His tongue brushed lightly against hers, and she moaned softly. She felt a soft chuckle against her mouth and then he abruptly pulled away. The dirty robe was pushed aside; and her tunic, leggings, and smallclothes were removed amidst increasingly heated kisses.

Reaching behind him, he pulled her blankets forward and laid her gently back against them. While she watched avidly, he slowly removed his own clothes as gracefully as any practiced courtesan would. Her eyes drank in the sheer beauty of his tanned, lithe body with every tattoo, scar, and imperfection enhancing the raw sensuality he radiated. Kneeling above her, he lowered his lips to the pulse at her throat, his tongue swirling slow circles at the delicate skin there. Her fingers dived into his hair and scratched lightly at his scalp, drawing a slight gasp from his throat. Slowly, he raised his head and gazed into her eyes intently.

"My lovely Warden, I would like to show you something new. It will be hard for you, but I think you will enjoy it immensely."

She swallowed hard, goose bumps tingling along her skin. Once he had discovered her longing to expand her sexual knowledge, he had spent many nights delightfully her teaching new techniques.

"What do you want to show me?" He trailed his fingers across her cheek and down her jaw.

"How to truly relax, my dear. To simply _feel_ and let that feeling take you where it will. Will you let me show you this?"

"It doesn't sound too difficult." She chuckled softly. "And to be honest, I haven't disliked anything you've shown me so far."

His amber eyes twinkled and he laughed. "Ah… and I've only _begun_ to show you things! There will be much more if you will allow it." Again, his lips found her neck and he trailed his tongue from that sensitive spot at her pulse down to her collarbone. She sighed and leaned her neck back to give him better access. She heard another soft laugh, and he slid his tongue along the bone to her shoulder. His lips found the tight muscle along the top of her shoulder and gently, he bit down. She gasped and tightened her fingers in his hair. He shifted his attention to her ear, running his tongue from her earlobe and up the ridge. As he talked softly into her ear, he traced the intricate swirls of cartilage with one finger.

"I want you to focus on relaxing each and every muscle in your body. Imagine you are lying in warm, soothing water, and it is drawing the tension out of you. No matter what I do, I want you to try to keep every muscle limp. Do not tense or move. Allow yourself to simply _feel_ each sensation without reacting."

"Umm, I don't know if I can do that, Zev. I mean, everything you do makes me want to move."

"Ahh, I know this my dear, but you must try. If you feel a muscle start to harden, force it to relax and _absorb_ what I am doing, as if you are my canvas and I am painting my desire into you. Do you understand?" His tongue swirled against the opening of her ear, and the warmth that had already begun growing between her legs became like a small fire.

"I will try, my teacher." She turned her head to him and met his lips. For several long breaths they tasted each other hungrily and she felt him press against her, his hardness unmistakable against her groin. A tingling warmth enveloped her and she felt dizzy and breathless. Finally, he pulled back and sat up, gazing down at her flushed body.

"My dear Warden, do you have any idea how _incredible_ you look? What seeing you like this does to me?"

Oh yes, she could see what it did to him, his length already swollen. He dragged slow fingers down between her breasts and across her stomach, ending with a light stroke across the soft curls between her legs. Involuntarily, her hips started to arch up, but a gentle pressure from his hand reminded her that she was supposed to remain still and calm. Gritting her teeth, she visualized sinking into the blankets, allowing each muscle to soften. He continued to lightly stroke her stomach in slow circles, giving her time to gain control. After a moment, she was able to relax again and he smiled down at her.

"Very good, my Warden. Just allow yourself to _experience_. You are required to do nothing more than this."

Placing his hands on either side of her, he lowered his head to one nipple, slowly circling it with his tongue, and her breath hitched slightly. He ran a rough palm across her hip and down her thigh, giving the hardened nipple a small nip with his teeth. She rewarded him with a small moan, and he smiled against her skin and trailed his lips ever downward in a meandering trail to the dark triangle between her thighs. Gently, he nudged her knees apart and lifted one leg, pushing it back toward her chest. Pressing his lips against the soft skin at the crook of her knee, he darted his tongue out, teasing the sensitive flesh. Blindly, she reached out one hand to grab _something,_ to steady herself against this sensuous onslaught, but her hand found only air and she forced it to relax again.

He shifted slightly, lowering her leg and spreading her thighs. Using both thumbs, he spread the outer folds of her labia, exposing her completely. Expecting to feel his tongue, she was surprised to feel only his breath exhaled against the sensitive skin already moistened by her juices. Goose bumps ran up her arms and she shivered with pleasure. For several moments he remained still, his breath warming her exposed flesh.

"Zev… _please_… I can't…."

A chuckle sounded from between her legs, and he dipped his head, finally giving her what she craved: his warm tongue stroking her clit. Unable to allow her body to move, she vented her tension with her voice.

"Ahhhh… _Zev_…."

As his tongue continued to wet her skin with intricate patterns, she began to realize why Zevran had wanted her to try this particular technique. With her body laying quiet and accepting, every sensation seemed magnified and enhanced. Her body felt like it was floating in a warm bubble with a burning tension building from her center and spreading outward. Every stroke of his tongue expanded the bubble. She was so immersed in the growing ecstasy that she was barely even aware of the almost constant groans that escaped her. As the coiling heat became unbearable, she felt the center of her wetness beginning to involuntarily spasm. Feeling the weak contractions under his tongue, Zevran slowly pulled away. She whimpered in protest and opened her eyes to find him watching her face intently.

"Ahh, my warden, tell me how it feels." He rose and turned her to the side, settling himself behind her with his front pressed against her back.

"Maker, Zev… it feels…."

"Hmm, yes? Tell me." He bent her top leg at the knee and pulled it to the side exposing her once again. Gently, he slid two fingers between her folds and began to stroke both sides of her clit. She moaned and laid her head back against him.

"Shh, my dear," he murmured in her ear. "Relax and tell me how it feels."

"I… it's… like a spring inside… winding tighter and tighter. Zev, I need to _move_!"

"Tsk, no. Relax into it. Let it build." He lowered his lips to her ear and began to nibble it while his fingers continued slowly swirling around her wetness. His body pressed tightly against her back, and she could feel his hardness nudging her rump. The warm tingling in her center wound tighter and once again, she was beginning to spasm, her clit swelling beneath his fingers.

"Zev, it's coming… I can't hold it…."

"Good, my dear. Relax into it. Let it take you completely. Don't try to hold it in; let it go." His fingers began to stroke faster, gently squeezing her engorged clit. Again and again, the muscles between her thighs twitched… built… wound tight… then _crashed_. Everything seemed to explode from the center outward and a hoarse cry escaped her throat. She was only vaguely aware of his free arm tightening around her, holding her close as her body thrashed wildly. Finally, drained of all sensation and thought, she went limp and drifted in the warmth of his embrace. After a time, she felt his soft breath against the back of her neck and slowly twisted to look at him. He was smiling quite wickedly, like the cat that swallowed the mouse.

"Zev, how do you _do_ this to me?"

"Do what, my dear Ember?" His smile widened, all innocence. She laughed and turned to face him, allowing her hand to brush carelessly against his swollen length. His breath caught, and his hand gripped her hip tightly. Watching her come apart had already brought him agonizingly close to his own end. She had been a beautiful, wild thing in the midst of her pleasure, and it had taken almost all of his self-control to keep from throwing her on her back and taking her. Now her hand was teasing him so enticingly, and he felt that control beginning to unravel.

"_Mi querida_, I want you."

He whispered the endearment softly, only noticing the slip after it had already escaped. But he was too far gone to care, and perhaps she wouldn't understand the word. Eagerly, she spread her legs and still gripping his shaft, guided him to her entrance. With a low curse in Antivan, he thrust inside her rougher than ever before. She arched her pelvis and pulled both legs back as far as she could, giving him the deepest access possible. With a desperate groan, he buried his length inside her warmth and shivered with the sensation of it. All control split apart and he was moving faster, her hips matching his rhythm.

"Ember… Ember… _mi flor dulce_…."

Everything shattered into a thousand pieces, his last thrust spilling his seed inside of her. With a moan, he collapsed on his side pulling her against him, one leg slung over his hip, his diminishing hardness still buried inside. She laid her head against his chest, both of them gasping as the world returned to normal. Thoroughly exhausted but more content than she could ever remember being, she drifted into a dreamless sleep, still joined to her lover.

Zevran lay awake feeling torn. As a rule, he never spent the night with any lover. It was simply too hazardous for someone of his profession. But this mage cradled in his arms gave him a rather unusual feeling he couldn't quite identify, a completeness of sorts. It worried and confused him. Where was all this _emotion_ coming from? He had meant to share companionship with her; anything more was alien to him. He wasn't sure what to think of how he felt or where they would go from here. He did know that he didn't want it to end. Truly, he was enjoying these nights that had become revelations for her. She was an eager pupil who obviously thrived on sexuality, and now that she was free from the Circle, she was opening up like a seedling to the sun. It was a wondrous joy to watch, and he didn't want to pull away from this yet. He wasn't quite _attached_… just very interested, no? Deciding that he was quite warm and comfortable where he was, he allowed himself to relax and drift into the familiar light sleep of an assassin. This one time, he could allow himself to break a rule….


	2. Chapter 2: Swimming Lesson

Zevran had warned her that Zathrien was not being honest with them. After the meeting with the Keeper, he had pulled her aside and quietly told her that the elderly elf was hiding something. Emberlin had not noticed this herself, but she trusted the assassin's opinion. After all, he had been trained to read people. But she was shocked because the Dalish were supposed to be honorable people, slow to trust, but truthful and direct. To be honest, however, the Dalish had been disappointing her from the first moment Mithra had intercepted them. Emberlin had taken Zevran with her to meet the Dalish because she thought he might want to see what his mother's people were like, and she hoped his presence would help the reluctant Dalish to relax with the humans in her party. The plan had backfired. The Dalish were condescending toward Zevran, showing him the same contempt they displayed toward the humans. Not that they were actually _rude_, but you could see it in their eyes when they looked at him and the way they spoke to him like he, a mere city elf, was beneath their notice. It filled her with rage, and she wanted to lash out at them. But Zevran took it calmly, his usual implacable mask in place, smirking at their disdain. If he would not acknowledge their foolishness, then neither would she. But it irritated her that Zathrien could be withholding information when they were trying to help his people.

Very little had gone right during their first two days here. In trying to help with a sick halla, she had earned the scorn of the Dalish when it became obvious that she had no animal skills. After that, Varathorn had refused to trade with her, which left them wondering what they were going to do about their dwindling supplies. But luckily, she had succeeded in bringing Cammen and Gheyna together, and this had appeased Varathorn enough that he had relented. Wanting to escape the animosity in the camp, they had ventured into the forest to look for Witherfang and had been pressed into battle after battle with wolves and bears. A small group of werewolves had warned them to turn back and hinted that there was something the companions didn't know, echoing Zevran's suspicions. Then they had encountered an insane mage who had taken all their resources to defeat and left Sten half-dead. Now back in their camp, Wynne was tending him with healing magic, and it seemed that the tough Qunari would recover in a few days.

The one shining moment had been the discovery of the Dalish gloves. Of course, they reminded her of Zevran's story about his mother's gloves. She had carefully put them in her pouch, and later when they had returned to camp, she had shyly offered them as a gift. The look of surprise and pleasure in his eyes had been well worth any nervousness she had felt. She had assured him that it was a small thing and that he owed her nothing in return. She had always been careful to keep her feelings at bay, knowing that it was highly unlikely he would ever be able to feel more than friendship towards her. Being with Zevran was like playing with fire; she knew she was likely to get hurt but could not bring herself to end what intimacy she had managed to gain with him thus far.

She felt utterly exhausted this evening and decided to go bathe while Leliana prepared dinner. Gheyna had informed the group of a hot spring not far from the camp, which sounded like a lovely treat. They were all used to bathing hastily in cold streams when those could be found, and warm water was a luxury they hadn't experienced in some time. The others all seemed occupied, so she felt that now would be a good moment to get some privacy. She spotted Zevran polishing his blades with his back against a tree and sauntered over to him.

"I think I'm going to go bathe while I can," she murmured to him. "You're certainly welcome to join me if you wish." She smiled down at him beguilingly and walked off without looking back. Even so, she could feel his eyes following her as she disappeared into the trees.

#####

She was growing bolder and more confident and he loved it. She had been so shy at first, but after only a few months, she could easily match his flirtatious banter. It was quite… arousing. The gift she had given him today had taken him completely by surprise, and surprise was _not_ something Zevran Arainai usually felt. Only Rinna had ever given him a gift without expecting something in return. It caused him to feel something not entirely unpleasant, but it made him wary. Their fight against the Blight was dangerous with an ending that was yet uncertain. He had no idea where he would go after Emberlin released him from his oath, but he knew he did not want to give up this taste of freedom. That is, if he survived the final battle.

He watched her disappear into the trees and carefully put his daggers away, except the one he carried with him at all times. It was true that he found her quite attractive, but he also found he didn't like her going off by herself. He had become more protective of her lately, which was vaguely disturbing, but he _had_ declared himself to be her man without reservation. That meant keeping her alive and whole, and if his desire to stay close to her perhaps meant a little more than that, he preferred not to dwell on it too much. He stood and quietly followed her trail out of the camp.

#####

The spring was perfect: a large pool surrounded by overhanging trees with a waterfall at one end. Mossy rocks surrounded the water, which rippled with an undercurrent which she found to be deliciously warm. The waterfall fell like a curtain in a perfect glassy sheet, and the pool spread behind it into a small cave. The center of the pool was clearly deep, and she stayed in the shallow water near the waterfall. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back into the waterfall, wetting her hair and letting the cascading water massage her shoulders.

"Ahh, a beautiful water sprite awaits me. I wonder how easy she will be to catch?" She quickly opened her eyes to find Zevran already unclothed and in the water, watching her with a smirk. _How does he_do_that_? While she watched, he leisurely swam out to the center of the pool and then dived under, coming back up with blond hair streaming down his back.

"My dear Warden, you _must_ come out here! The water is quite warm, and the current is very soothing."

"Uh… Zevran… I can't swim," she said, feeling her face flush with embarrassment.

His eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "Truly? Then you must allow me to give you your first lesson." Slipping under the surface, he swam over and popped up in front of her with a cocky grin.

"Zev, no! Really, I can't. We never had the opportunity to leave the tower to learn and now I'm too old…."

"Too old? I see no gray in your hair, my Warden. Tonight, I will show you something easy and you will enjoy it." He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her against him. Her body brushed up against his, and her breath hitched. Whenever she was this close to him, everything else seemed to fade and become so unimportant. But really, she didn't want to go near that deep water.

"Zev, I don't know…." He brushed his fingers slowly along her cheek, water dripping down like tears.

"Do you not trust me? I will not allow you to sink, I promise." His eyes were so intense. The question hung between them, meaning so much more than the situation at hand. He had tried to kill her once after all. Was he afraid she was unable to look past that? As if all the nights she had given herself to him hadn't been proof enough?

"Zevran, I trust you. In _all_ things." The words seemed to throw him. Momentarily, his mask slipped, allowing her to see surprise and uncertainty. Then the familiar smooth smile slid back in place.

"Then you will let me show you this, yes? Come. Lie back against my chest and let your legs float." She did so, fumbling in the water until she felt his strong hand on her back lifting her up into a back float. He took a step back and let her head fall back in the water with one hand supporting her neck and the other remaining on her lower back. The water rippled around her face and tickled her ears. She laughed in surprised delight.

"Ah, see? You are a natural, my Warden. Is it not a wonderful feeling to let the water carry you?" And it was. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the warm water around her, and the events of the day seemed to drift away. After a time, she opened her eyes again to see the sky turning a delicate orange; the sun had begun to set. She suddenly realized that his hands were gone and she was floating on her own in the middle of the pool. Panic seized her and she flailed about, coming upright and paddling frantically at the water. Immediately, hard arms were about her waist and he was there, pulling her against his chest. She turned and buried her head against his shoulder in relief.

"My dear, I am sorry to have scared you so. But you were doing so well, and I never left your side. Did you doubt me?" His fingers stroked the nape of her neck.

"Well, no… but dammit Zev! Don't do that again!" She punched his arm in mock anger, and he threw his head back and laughed. Pulling her with him, he waded to the side of the pool and grabbed the soap she had laid there earlier. She snatched it from him with a grin.

"Oh no, you don't. You had your fun and now it's my turn! Move over there where it's shallower so I can wash you." He raised his eyebrows but obeyed, moving to where the water came halfway up his thighs. She paused to gaze at his lean figure: dark tattoos swirled over one breast and then curled diagonally across his tight stomach and down over his groin, where they spiraled tightly. Another tattoo branched from there and trailed down the inside of his thigh to end like a vine around his knee. He was truly breath-taking.

"Zevran, you are _beautiful_." At her words, a strange look passed over his face, an almost defensive wariness. Then his expression softened and he spread out his hands.

"Well, it would seem I am yours at the moment." Those amber eyes laughed as she approached him slowly with the soap.

She moved slowly, lathering her hands and gently washing his skin in firm, circular motions. He closed his eyes and purred his approval. She started at his shoulders and worked her way down, tracing the path of his tattoos. When she reached his groin, he leaned his head back and sighed in pleasure. Already, he was hard and not afraid to show it. She lathered up her hands once more and gripped his length with both hands. He groaned and involuntarily thrust his hips toward her. She began to stroke firmly, using one palm to circle the head with each stroke. His hardness twitched in her hands, and her breath came faster as she felt his response. Suddenly, they both went rigid as voices drifted through the trees.

"Well hopefully, Alistair can manage to keep from burning the stew while we bathe. I really want to get cleaned up before it gets too dark." Leliana's light tone was followed with a laugh.

"I wouldn't count on it," said Morrigan, in her usual wry tone. "Alistair can mess up anything."

Emberlin quickly grabbed their clothes and the soap and tossed them behind a nearby bush. Then she grabbed Zevran's hand and pulled him through the waterfall. The small recess behind it gave them barely enough room to stand and did not allow for much movement, but it did provide enough shadow to conceal them from anyone in the pool. The water here came to their waist and was surrounded in smooth flat rocks. Splashes were heard as Leliana and Morrigan entered the pool.

"Oh, by the Maker, Gheyna was right!" exclaimed Leliana. "This pool is _heaven_! So nice and warm…."

"I admit 'tis a nice change from the cold streams we usually get," said Morrigan.

As the two continued to chat, Zevran slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. She could feel his hardness poking her buttocks and leaned back against him. His teeth nipped at one ear while a wet finger began to circle her nipple. Forgetting the nearness of their friends, she gasped and then quickly covered her mouth in chagrin. She felt his abdomen ripple with a silent chuckle, and he dipped his other hand between her legs, searching for that sensitive spot and circling it with his fingers. She closed her eyes and melted against him. Oh, but he was making this _difficult_. Reaching behind her, she sought to even the score by taking him in her hand and stroking. In response, he bit her shoulder hard and pushed her against the flat rock in front of her. His hands gripped her hips and thrust her forward, one hand bending her stomach over the rock. With one knee, he urged her legs apart. His fingers briefly tested her entrance, feeling the slickness of her need. Then, with no further warning, he entered her, filling her completely.

It was almost too much. To keep from crying out in pleasure, she bit the back of her wrist, exhaling sharply. For several long moments, he held perfectly still, allowing her to feel how swollen he was, his need as great as her own. That feeling of fullness was indescribable… it made her want to cry his name, to let him know what it was he did to her. So many feelings, so much emotion, all balled into this one simple joining of flesh. He had not taken her from behind before, and the position angled her just right, each thrust rubbing against a sensitive spot deep inside. Never had she felt it so strongly, and it drove her wild, thrusting back against him. She felt his fingers sliding between the crack of her buttocks and over her anus. Gently, he massaged the smooth muscles there, and she was biting her hand again in exquisite agony. He quickened his pace, driving hard and deep, gripping one hip firmly. His other hand moved to tangle in her wet hair and pulled her head back. She surrendered to him, giving him complete control. The sensation of vulnerability pushed her close to the edge, and she was fighting to keep silent. Only seconds later, she felt him tense and he was pulsing inside of her with a barely audible gasp. Her fingers clenched on the rock, and she followed him over the edge, mouth agape in a silent cry. As time slowed, they lay against the rock, spiraling back down to earth. Awareness returned and she could once again hear Leliana and Morrigan nearby. It sounded like they were getting dressed.

"I have no idea where Ember and Zevran went off to, but I hope they get back before dark," said Leliana.

"I doubt we need to worry," replied Morrigan. "Between her magic and his knives, they can handle themselves. Besides, I'm sure they are enjoying their privacy."

Leliana giggled. Emberlin suppressed a laugh of her own and grinned at Zevran, who was trying to affect a look of innocence. Their relationship was hardly a secret anymore, and neither of them minded in the least. If only Wynne would quit glaring at them with disapproval all the time….

After the two women left, Emberlin and Zevran quickly finished bathing and got dressed. The sky was growing dark, and it was time to head back and eat. As they left the pool, Emberlin touched Zevran's shoulder lightly.

"Thank you for the lesson." She smiled at him impishly.

"You are most welcome, my dear. Perhaps while we are here helping the Dalish, I can find some time to teach you more?" He lifted his eyebrows hopefully.

"I'm hoping you will continue to teach me many things, Zev." She reached up and traced the tattoo on his cheek lightly with one finger. His look softened, and he took her hand and brushed his lips over the palm. His amber eyes gazed into hers intently.

"As you desire, my Warden."


	3. Chapter 3: Release

For an assassin, being enclosed is not a good thing. Crows are trained to avoid being trapped, and all of Zevran's senses screamed warnings against the huge cavern that was Orzammar. Its enormous size did nothing to alleviate his anxiety, for he was still surrounded by walls on all sides. His entire body ached for fresh air and open sky. The Deep Roads had been even worse. He still couldn't get the terrible image of the Broodmother out of his mind or what it had meant in relationship to his Warden. The thought that they could make her one of those abominations had filled her eyes with horror. That night she had woken screaming from nightmares, and Zevran had shoved the others aside to take her in his arms. She had not slept the rest of that night but lay shivering against him. When they had finally emerged from the Deep Roads with Bhelen's crown, her eyes were haunted, her face gaunt and pale. He knew she also carried the guilt of not destroying the Anvil, and he wished he had not encouraged her to preserve it. To him, it was a powerful weapon, but to her, it was slavery. He was thankful they had not taken Shale with them. The golem would have held it against her and added to her pain.

He wondered if he was the only one who noticed how frail she looked as she presented Bhelen with his crown. She was clearly exhausted; they all were but she was determined to finish the mission and seal the treaty with the dwarves. As Harrowmont was led away to be executed, she left the chamber and slumped against the wall outside. He followed and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"My dear, you need rest. Bhelen has offered us rooms in his palace for the night. It has been long since we have been able to sleep on a bed, no? Go. I will not allow anyone to interrupt your sleep." She looked up at him gratefully.

"Yes, I think I will go rest for a while and take a bath. All I can smell on me are those accursed darkspawn!" She forced a weak chuckle but her eyes held no mirth. Zevran smiled and squeezed her shoulder.

"I too will go bathe and rest. And perhaps later, I can help you relax more, yes? If you wish."

"Yes, I think I would like that," murmured Emberlin. They had not had any privacy in Orzammar until now, and perhaps a night with Zevran would help erase the recent terrors from her mind, even if only temporarily.

"Good! I think I know of some very intriguing things you will enjoy. Tonight, you will be mine, yes?" He leaned forward to touch his forehead against hers.

"Yes, Zev." She brushed her fingertips across his lips and he kissed them gently. He watched as she walked away, noticing the weary slump of her shoulders. Perhaps he should just leave her alone tonight and let her rest? But he desperately wanted to ease her tension and help her forget her troubles. It was the only gift he could give her, his skills in sensuality. And he had some ideas, after all, some things he wished to try. And if he was right, it would go a long way to releasing all that tension she held inside her. Smiling a little, he walked off to his own room to bathe and prepare.

#####

She awoke from a wonderful, dreamless sleep feeling more well-rested than she had since they had entered Orzammar. To her surprise, she noticed someone had entered the room and left her a tray of food. Zevran. No one else would have dared to enter her room without asking. She grinned and sat up. Oh Maker, but she was _hungry_. Well, that was a good sign, she supposed. If her appetite was back, her body must be recovering from the journey. She devoured everything on the tray, and then noticed that Zevran had also filled the tub with hot water and recently, by the feel of it. With a sigh of pure contentment, she sank beneath the water and reveled in the soothing heat. She noticed that he had even left a bar of scented soap next to the tub. Where did he get that? _Probably from some stash of Bhelen's,_ she mused. She bathed languorously, relishing the feeling of being clean. Glancing at a nearby chair, she noticed he had also left a soft, brown, cotton tunic and pants for her to wear. _Good idea, since my robes are absolutely filthy with darkspawn blood_. She toweled off and put on the clothes, which smelled a little of flowers. _Nice_. Refreshed and comfortable, she decided to go find her lover. After all, she had agreed to be his for the night, and this thought sent delicious shivers up her spine.

#####

She entered his room to find Zevran sitting by the fireplace in a cushioned lounge chair. He was wearing only loose cloth pants that hung low on his hips. His hair was unbound and tucked behind his elegant, pointed ears. Even slouching, he was graceful. As she started to walk toward him, he raised a hand.

"Stop." Startled, she froze and raised her eyebrows at him questioningly.

"As I said earlier, tonight you are _mine_." He smiled slowly. "I have often noticed that you seem to enjoy feeling… vulnerable. Not in public, of course, but when you are in bed with me." He lifted one hand and rested his chin on it thoughtfully, regarding her with a very intense look. She felt herself flushing. "You seem to become more aroused when control is taken from you. Do you think this is true, my Warden?"

Her thoughts were tumbling around like dust in a storm. She wasn't sure how she wanted to answer his question. If she admitted to enjoying this aspect of sex, how did that make her appear? Did it make her weak or strange? She couldn't deny that his observance was true; she relished submitting to his desires. This confused her since she was not normally the type of person who willingly gave control to someone else. It was part of the unfortunate reason she had become the leader of their group. She looked up at Zevran and decided to answer honestly.

"I don't really know why, but I think it is true, yes." A bright blush reddened her cheeks, and a gentle smile crossed his face.

"I think we should explore this then, hmm? To see how this can enhance your pleasure? Do not worry. I will not misuse you in any way, this I promise you. I shall tell you what I want, and you will obey me. Shall we see where this will take us?" He spread his hands, indicating that the choice was hers.

"Y-yes. I would like that, I think." Maker, why did she feel so shy? It wasn't like this was her first time with him, but she couldn't seem to calm the trembling in her hands.

"Good. Then let us start with you removing your clothes." She began to pull her shirt off, but he raised a hand. "Slowly. I want to watch you." He smirked at her as he leaned back in his chair.

_Um, okay_. Trying to calm herself, she slid her tunic slowly over her head, arching her back to push her breasts out. She let the shirt fall to the floor and feeling inspired, ran her hands down over her hardened nipples. She glanced up to see him smiling, obviously pleased at her boldness. Gracefully, she raised one foot behind her and yanked off the soft leather shoe, tossing it at his feet. He chuckled and made a show of raising the shoe to his lips before flipping it behind him. She removed the other shoe and then turned her back to him. The laces of her pants came apart easily and she wriggled her hips suggestively as she lowered them to the floor. Then with a smile, she pulled her smallclothes down her legs and threw it perfectly onto his lap. His gaze never leaving hers, he lifted the panties to his nose and inhaled deeply.

"Mmm, I love this scent more than any flower." He dropped it to the floor and beckoned to her. "Now, crawl to me."

At first she hesitated, but then dropped to her hands and knees, feeling terribly awkward. Compared to Zevran, she always felt clumsy. But she was oddly determined to please him tonight, no matter how strange the request. Her eyes focusing on his, she slowly began to crawl sinuously towards him like a cat stalking its prey. When she reached his bare feet, she sat back on her heels and looked up to see the very obvious bulge in the crotch of his pants. His amber eyes had darkened, the amused look gone and replaced with an intensity that made her breath quicken.

"Well done, my Warden. You deserve a small reward for your efforts." Leaning forward, he cupped her face in his hands and brushed her lips lightly with his own. He teased the soft flesh with his tongue and then deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue. His fingers moved into her hair and caressed her ears. She moaned softly into his mouth, and he pulled away reluctantly. Eyes half-lidded, he traced one finger down her neck and over her rapidly beating pulse.

"I think I really enjoy observing you, my dear. Go lay down on the bed now with your feet towards me. I want you to touch and pleasure yourself while I watch. Make sure to open yourself to me so I can see clearly." He gestured towards the bed.

She flushed at the thought of what he wanted her to do. Of course, she had touched herself during their nights together before, but he had always been equally occupied. Now she would be on display for him, which somehow seemed almost obscenely intimate. Moving to the bed, she lay back and spread her legs wide, exposing herself to him. She heard a low hum of approval from Zevran and flushed again. There was no need for any lubrication; his kiss had made her quite wet already. Spreading her folds with one hand, she slid two fingers between them and began to stroke her clit slowly. Oh, but it felt so _good_; how she had _missed_ this feeling during their trek through the Dark Roads. And strangely, the knowledge that he was watching her aroused her even more than the touching. Her eyes closed and she slowly relaxed into the pleasure, eventually even forgetting he was there as she lost herself in the building tension. Soon she was groaning, her peak growing closer and closer… oh _Maker_, she was going to come _hard_. But then her ecstasy was interrupted by a quiet command.

"Stop. You will not come until I give you permission." Her eyes flew open to find him standing at the foot of the bed, now completely naked. She had no idea how long he had been standing there. Gritting her teeth against her need, she drew her fingers away and started to close her legs, but he put his hands out to stop her and pushed them back open. Reaching out, he took her hand, still moist with her juices, and slipped her fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. She gasped and involuntarily thrust her hips up towards him. He licked each finger clean, then released her hand to grasp several objects he had laid at the bottom of the bed.

"Put your hands above your head, my dear." She obeyed and felt him swiftly fasten something cool and hard around each wrist with an audible click. Straining her head she looked up to see a steel bracelet around each wrist, each with a small clasp and two small metal loops. The bracelets were carefully rounded on each edge to prevent any discomfort or cutting into the flesh. Zevran produced two black cotton ropes which he tied through a loop on each bracelet, tying off the other end to the bedposts above her head. Her arms were now stretched securely above her head, leaving her feeling completely vulnerable and helpless. For a few moments she felt a surge of utter panic, but as if sensing her unease, he lowered his head to hers and gently kissed her lips. Then he pulled back slightly and gazed into her eyes searchingly, eyebrows furrowed. The kiss grounded her, and she remembered that this was _Zevran_. It had taken some time for both of them to establish trust, and she didn't want to ruin it by a moment of panic. It was somehow important that he understand she trusted him now completely, that she would not hesitate to give herself to him. Slowly, she relaxed and gave him a small smile. His face smoothed and he smiled back and then moved to kneel between her legs. Her eyes drifted down to take in his erection and her breath hitched with desire. He chuckled.

"Ahh, my Warden likes what she sees, no?" He slowly dragged his fingernails down over her chest and stomach, then back up to squeeze each breast, pulling at each nipple till she gasped. He did this several times till she was squirming beneath his hands, skin made hypersensitive by his light scratches. Lightly, he cupped one hand over the dark triangle between her legs and applied a gentle pressure. She moaned and tried to thrust up, but his other hand gripped her hip and held her down.

"Ah, Zev… _please_," she begged him. He raised a finger to her lips.

"I don't think I gave you permission to speak, my dear." He withdrew his hand, and she struggled to pull herself back from the edge. Continuing to straddle her, he moved up her chest and gently placed a pillow under her head, tilting her face more towards him. His erection brushed against her lips, a small drop of precum sliding down the head. She licked her lips and looked up at him for permission.

"Very good, my lovely lady. Already you are learning so well. You may lick it." Maker, why was she so _eager_ to take him in her mouth? He shifted closer, allowing her to slide her tongue over that sweet drop. She could smell his scent: leather and herbs, almost hidden beneath the musky smell of his sex. She stretched out her tongue further and licked slowly along the underside, pleased to see his hardness twitch. She wanted him to react, to lose some of that control. She took just the head into her mouth and glanced up at him again.

"Yes, you may suck it also." He smiled and ran the fingers of one hand through her hair gripping the back of her head to provide some support. It was difficult with her hands stretched tightly above her head, but she managed to lean her head forward enough to take most of his length into her mouth. Forming a seal with her lips, she sucked and pulled back slowly. He gasped and tightened his grip in her hair. She repeated this several times, alternating with slow licks up his shaft, until he was moving his hips and thrusting shallowly into her mouth. He was murmuring softly in Antivan, eyes closed in pleasure. She felt him swell inside her mouth and prepared for him to come but he abruptly pulled away, his breathing harsh and ragged.

"You have become too good at this, my Warden. Truly, I find it hard to resist you like this, but I am not done with you just yet." He gazed down at her body, nipples hard, skin reddened by his scratches, hips involuntarily arching up with desire.

"So beautiful you are like this. I would almost like to keep you like this forever, on the brink of ecstasy, just so I can enjoy the sight of you." She moaned in protest, a silent plea in her mind: _please, I need you_. He seemed to sense her thought and pushed her legs back against her chest. Lowering his head, he licked in one long stroke from her anus to her clit. Shuddering, she cried out, jerking against the chains binding her. He did this several times until she was a trembling mess, unable to move or do anything to relieve the tension building inside her.

Finally, he rose up and looked at her in a predatory way. Pulling her legs against his chest, he positioned himself, and in one quick deep thrust, penetrated her. She cried out, the feeling of fullness too incredible for any words, even if he had given her permission to speak. Remembering that she was not allowed to come until he said, she bit her lower lip and fought against the need engulfing her body. He set a slow rhythm, first thrusting deep, then shallow, teasing her. Her hands balled into fists and she could feel her nails biting into the flesh of her palms. He was speaking in Antivan again, as he always did in the midst of their pleasure. His rhythm quickened, and his breath began to come faster. He pulled her legs around his hips and leaned forward.

"Come, my Warden. Come with me, _mi querida_." _Oh Maker, finally_. He kissed her deeply, still thrusting, and she moaned desperately against his mouth. Abruptly, he pulled away and leaned his head back with a groan. She could feel him grinding deep against that sensitive spot and with a rush, everything exploded. She didn't hear her own voice, but she heard his spiraling upward with intensity, and in that cry she recognized her name.

Time passed in a haze, and when she finally returned from the deepness of ecstasy, she was lying in his arms, her hands free. Her head was on his chest and his fingers were gently stroking her hair. She turned her face and kissed his nipple. He chuckled.

"So you return at last? I was wondering how I was going to bring you back." He kissed the top of her hair.

"Well, I guess you could always just leave me there and go lead the party yourself," she said, laughing.

"Hmm. Somehow, I don't think the others would like that too much." He raised her wrists to his lips and kissed the small dents left in her flesh by the bracelets. "And how did you feel tonight? Did you enjoy giving up your control to me or did it bother you?" She thought she heard a hint of anxiety in his voice but decided she must be imagining it. She couldn't see Zevran ever being anything but confident.

"Honestly? I have to admit I'm surprised to hear myself say this, but it felt good. Giving you the control actually made me feel… well… free in a weird kind of way. I wasn't being forced to make any decisions for once, and it felt good to not have any responsibility for a change." Astonished, she raised her fingers to her cheeks to feel hot tears. Until now, she hadn't realized how much weight she had been carrying around. The past weeks had been the most trying yet, and always the tough decisions were hers. Even now, she still felt doubt about putting Bhelen on the throne, but it was over at least and the dwarves had pledged themselves to her cause.

"_Querida_, you take too much of our worries on yourself," he murmured against her hair and wiped her tears away with his thumb. _Querida_, she thought. He had called her that once before, and she had learned from Leliana that it meant _darling_ in Antivan. She closed her eyes against fresh tears. She didn't know why but something had changed tonight. She could no longer deny her feelings for this blond elf. He had become her reason for waking up each day, her strength when she was weary, and her rock when it seemed the ground would crumble beneath her. She never wanted to be without him, but how did he feel? Did the endearment mean that she might dare to hope?

At the moment, she was too exhausted to figure it out. She felt whole for the first time in weeks, and she intended to get a good sleep. Perhaps with Zevran holding her, the nightmares would give her some respite tonight. Snuggling against his warmth, she wrapped her arms around him.

"Thank you Zev, for tonight. I needed it." She yawned and closed her eyes sleepily. He held her close until she was asleep before whispering back to her.

"So did I, _querida_. So did I."


	4. Chapter 4: Unraveling the Past

**Title: ** Unraveling The Past

**Characters:** f!Amell, Zevran

**Rating:** M for references to rape and torture.

**Summary:** Chapter 4 in the From Ember to Flame series. In this chapter, Zevran reveals his past to his Warden.

He waited patiently in his tent for her to come. There was not the slightest doubt that she wouldn't. All day long, he had repeatedly caught her staring at him pensively, questions clouding her lovely, green eyes. It was the first time she had been out of her tent in a week, and she was still recovering from the battle with the dragon in Haven. He could see the lingering effects of her injuries; the grimaces of pain she made when moving in a certain way, the way she would often pause as if trying to catch her breath. He would have liked to tell her to go back to her bedroll and rest, but he knew she would stubbornly refuse. She hated having other people do things for her, always anxious to prove herself, even after all this time. The moment Wynne had given her permission to move about, she had been doing odd jobs around the camp and making poultices. Tonight, she would confront him and he knew this. He had successfully evaded her questions this long only because she had been confined to bed.

As if her mind had read his, he felt a cool breeze and looked up from sorting his poisons to see her slim figure standing at the entrance of his tent. His eyes assessed her body language as all Crows were trained to do. Yes, she was definitely tense and obviously uncertain about approaching him. For a moment, he considered making this easier and bringing up the subject himself but he was reluctant to do so. This would not be an easy topic for him and he was not inclined to initiate the conversation.

"Am I interrupting anything, Zevran?" Ahh, _Zevran_, not Zev. So many meanings hid behind that choice of name.

"Of course not, my Warden" he replied. "Since when is your company an interruption?" He smiled winningly, his expression carefully cloaking his true feelings. "Just let me move these poisons out of the way so you can sit down. You must be quite tired, yes?" He quickly placed the poisons in their separate vials and moved them beside his pack. She sat down slowly by his small fire, closing her eyes briefly in discomfort when she bent her back. Every muscle in his body tensed to assist her, but he held himself at bay. She would not thank him for treating her like an invalid.

"I wanted to ask you something that's been bothering me… if you feel you can talk about it." Her eyes met his, and he could see determination in those eyes. He nodded slowly.

"You wish to know about the regret the Guardian asked me about, yes?" She nodded an affirmation. He looked away briefly and then bowed his head with a sigh. "You have confided much in me, my Warden. It would be wrong of me to refuse your request. I will tell you now of my last mission before I came to Ferelden."

And so at last, he spoke of Rinna, lost friend and lover, and the pain he bore, always like a stone in his heart. He spoke of his ignorance of what it meant to love, his blindness to her loyalty, and his fear of reciprocating her feelings. He spoke of her tears falling like raindrops as he laughed mockingly, and her blood streaming like the gush of a waterfall while he looked away. He spoke of the endless void that swallowed him whole when he discovered the truth and of his final wish to follow his heart of stone into that void forever. And finally, he spoke of her, his Warden, who had prevented that wish. _And changed it entirely to something new and unlooked for_, he thought, although he did not tell her this. When he had finished, Emberlin was _crying_, crying for him. He shook his head and reached out to brush her tears away.

"Do not cry for a fool, my dear. All that happened I brought on myself, and I accept the responsibility. Do not trouble yourself with my past." But she was furiously shaking her head at him.

"No, Zev. I _want_ to know about your past. Thank you for telling me about Rinna. I just wish you had felt that you could talk to me sooner." She took his hand and kissed his palm gently.

"Some things in my past I prefer to leave there, but I _do_ tell you many things," he said. "You have heard many tales of my adventures, have you not? What more can possibly be of such interest?" He raised his eyebrows innocently.

"Oh, stop it, Zev." She glared at him across the flickering flames. "You hide more than you reveal, although I _do_ understand that you have been taught to do this. But I thought I had gained at least some measure of your trust. Am I wrong?" Her voice trembled just a little, and he was instantly on his feet, moving to her side and taking her in his arms.

"_Mi querida_, you are not wrong. You have my respect and my trust, both. Never doubt this. It is simply… difficult… for me to talk about things I find _unpleasant_. If it will please you, my dear, I will aspire to do better in this regard." He lowered his lips to her ear and teased the tip with his tongue. "Of course, I know _other_ ways to please you as well." She laughed a little, and the tension between them faded.

"So you will tell me more about yourself if I ask?" She leaned her head back against his chest, looking up at him. He caressed her cheek, tracing the fine line of her jaw.

"If you wish. What is it you wish to know? My many sexual exploits? The pranks I played on my fellow Crows? Ah, but I had some good laughs over those." His amber eyes twinkled with mirth.

"Actually, I want you to tell me about your Crow training. You've told me some bits and pieces, but you always brush it aside and act like what you went through was nothing. I have to confess that the more you try to hide it, the more curious I get." Zevran gazed down at her, looking troubled.

"My dear Ember, that part of my life was not an easy one, and the stories you would hear would only disturb you. You must believe me when I say it is better if you don't know too much." He looked away, his brow furrowing, his face tense. "Also, the ways of the Crows, including their training, are considered to be secrets. I am already a marked man, so revealing these secrets would bring me no closer to death than I already am. But if they discovered that _you_ knew their methods of training, they would kill you."

She squirmed around in his arms so that she was facing him. She reached up and traced the tattoo on his cheek, then cupped his cheek in her palm. "There's no one I would ever wish to tell, so I don't think it's a problem. Zev, I want to know what you were like when you were young and what happened to shape the man who shares my bed. As for being disturbed, have we not already faced many disturbing things on our insane quests?" He sighed and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I will confess that you are much stronger than I initially realized. You have carried many burdens, and I have admired your strength. Discussing my past is not easy, but I will try to answer your questions as best as I can. Will that satisfy you, my dear?"

"Whatever you feel comfortable telling me will be fine, Zev. I don't want to push; that's not my intention. I just want to know a little about your life with the Crows."

"Honestly, my dear Warden, there's not much to tell. Every day was spent almost exactly the same: moving from one class to the next; eating small, bland meals; resting whenever permission was granted to do so. Apprentices were not allowed to indulge in rich food or any kind of leisure. You already know that the Crows are made up of cells, each led by a Master. This Master decides how he wants each apprentice trained. All assassins are trained in the general aspects of the profession: weapons, poisons, stealth, tracking, and endurance, anything an assassin needs to know to complete his mission. In addition, all assassins are well-educated in scholarly studies: languages, literature, history, and arts. We must be able to mingle with commoners and nobles alike, so we are well-taught in social behaviors as well." He grinned slyly. "This includes the delicate art of seduction, which is my _specialty,_ of course." She laughed. "Once the Master decides which area he wishes the apprentice to excel in, that apprentice is sent to a different Master, who specializes in that particular talent. While still belonging to the Master of his cell, the apprentice spends a portion of each day receiving intense training in his specialty from another Master. The end result is a Crow with all the abilities of an assassin, as well as extra talents to fulfill specific types of missions."

"Well, that sounds exhausting but not as bad as what you've hinted at in previous conversations," she said. "Or is there more than what you're telling me?" He sighed.

"Much time is spent on developing an apprentice's endurance. An assassin must be able to withstand intense pain from injuries or torture. Also, a Crow must learn to suppress all emotions: anger, fear, love. All of these can interfere with completing a mission and _cannot _be indulged. This is why most Crows are recruited at an early age; they must be taught while young that no emotion or defiance will be tolerated. If an apprentice wishes to survive the training and become a Crow, he must accept that he exists _only_ to serve his Master. To achieve this result, endurance training can be quite… brutal." He closed his eyes, long-buried images fighting their way to the surface of his mind.

_It is his thirteenth birthda, but of course, they don't recognize birthdays here. He is chained to a wall, his back against the cold, rough stones, arms stretched tightly above his head. They have taken his clothes, leaving his lean, tanned body bare and exposed. Sweat glistens on his skin in the flickering light of torches. When the first lashes fall, he struggles to keep his chin up, to show them he doesn't care. But as the blood trails down his chest and stomach, it becomes harder to suppress the screams and soon he is squeezing his eyes shut, humiliating tears tracking his cheeks. Bloody welts cross his skin in intricate patterns, overlaying the welts from previous sessions. The welts will eventually heal, leaving few scars, for they are careful to leave his beautiful skin as unmarred as possible. They already have plans for him which make preserving his beauty imperative. This would in no way interfere in his training, however. There were many ways to inflict pain without leaving permanent marks. The lashes pause, giving him only just enough time to gulp air frantically, to actually __**hope**__ that they were done with him for the night. But they are not and now the lashes come again, this time lower down between his legs in that most sensitive area of all. And then he is screaming, wailing his defeat as his knees buckle, and he is held upright only by the chains around his wrists._

"You mean torture." Her voice broke through his memories and he sighed in relief, desperate to escape the memory.

"Yes, my Warden. The Crows believe that apprentices must be conditioned to withstand any kind of pain. Therefore, endurance training is utilized frequently to ensure this as well as to obtain compliance from more stubborn pupils."

"Zev, that is horrible." She touched his cheek in sympathy and he flinched. He did not want pity for something that was for him, a fact of life. He was a slave, or had been until he met Emberlin, and it was all he had ever known. She seemed to sense his discomfort and withdrew her hand. "So, what finally makes an apprentice a Crow?"

"At the end of their training, all apprentices must go through _la prueba final_, the final test of endurance," he replied. "Each test is tailored to the apprentice and chosen by his Master. It is designed to break the candidate, to see if he or she has what it takes to become a Crow. If the apprentice survives, he becomes a true member of the cell. If the apprentice fails, he is dead. _Es terminado_."

"And your final test… it was the rack, wasn't it?" She was looking into his eyes intently, both of them remembering that moment months ago in the Fade. He nodded slowly.

"Yes, they seemed to think that pain was the way to break me. But by that time, I had taught myself to give in to pain, to _embrace_ it even. It was the only way to survive. They managed to tear the muscles in a few of my joints, but those eventually healed and I became a Crow. Not all final tests involve the rack, however. There many ways, many _cruel_ ways, to test an apprentice. It is always the Master's choice."

"Such as?" she questioned, her eyes filled with fascinated horror. He hesitated momentarily before answering her question.

"There was a fellow apprentice in my cell, an elven woman by the name of Anya who was younger than me by several years. She was strikingly beautiful and had caught the eye of the Master while still quite young. She was trained quite intensely in seduction, of course. Beauty is not something to be wasted, even by the Crows. It was… difficult for her. She was quite the defiant young lady and deeply resented being a slave. As a result, the Masters were often quite harsh with her. The Master of our cell, especially, was very determined that she would yield and learn her place. Thus, her _prueba final_ was extremely brutal, even by the standards of the Crows. Most final tests are conducted privately, with only a few Crows in attendance. But in her case, there were many present, and the story of what happened spread quite quickly through the guild. This was part of the test, of course, to ensure her humiliation. I had admired her stubbornness, her sheer will to survive, and had become sort of a private mentor to her during her training. It was painful to see what she became after they had finished with her."

"W-what happened to her?" Emberlin's voice was filled with curiosity mixed with dread. Zevran again closed his eyes, wishing fervently that he didn't remember that night. He had been there against his wish, ordered to attend by his Master.

_It was the same cold room where his own _prueba final_ had taken place. This time there were many torches lit, providing plenty of light for all to watch the proceedings. Anya was naked, bent over a low wooden bench, her black hair loose on her back. Her hands were chained to the floor in front of her, her ankles fastened to a metal bar that kept her legs spread. Even from some distance away behind the other Crows, Zevran could see that she was shivering. There were about ten Crows in all, including the Master who was standing in front of the bound elf, his fingers fisted in her hair, forcing her to look up at him. He was smiling cruelly, licking his lips in anticipation of what was to come, what he had planned for her._

_"I think it's finally time, my dear Anya, that you learn to accept the truth of your existence. You have proven a fine assassin and have excelled in all your studies. Yet still I see that defiance in your eyes when you stand before me. You will learn your place in this cell; I will see to that with this final test. And if you do not learn to bow to me, then you will simply not survive." _

_With a final hiss he straightened, removing his belt with a flick of his wrist. Then he moved behind her and lowered his pants, exhibiting a full and swollen erection. Without warning or any means to make her ready, he thrust violently and deeply into the tightness of her ass, wrenching a scream from her lips. The Master gestured to one of the other Crows who moved to her head and grabbing her hair, twisted her head to the side so that she would be forced to watch the Master violate her. Zevran observed with sickening horror as the Master brutalized her again and again, her screams echoing off the stone walls. The other Crows watched intently, awaiting their turn, for this was why they were here. They would all be given a turn at forcing her to submission, but Zevran had no intention of staying to watch. Turning abruptly, he left the room without looking back. He could do nothing to help her, but he would not take part in this. Never had he forced himself on another woman and he had no intention of starting now, even though the Master had ordered it. Even if it meant that he would lose his life for disobeying._

He paid for his refusal to participate. For some reason, the Master declined to kill him but he was severely punished, spending an agonizing month in the guild dungeons where he was starved and tortured daily, left each night to lie naked on the cold floor, not even knowing if he would be allowed to live. When he was finally released, he sought out Anya, to see if she had survived. She had but her eyes were dead, a mere shell of the fiery woman she had used to be. He had tried to offer some semblance of comfort when they were alone, but she brushed him aside, unwilling to let him behind the barrier she now wore like a cloak. She was just another soul stripped of life by the Crows.

He finished telling Emberlin the story and raised his head. She was crying, slow tears of sorrow and horror. Tentatively, she reached out to him and after hesitating for only a moment, he allowed himself to rest his head on her shoulder, feeling drained by the memory. Her fingers stroked his fine, blond hair, and he was surprised to find how good it felt, to simply let go of his mask and let another inside his world. It felt _wrong_; everything he had learned fought against this feeling, but he no longer cared. He had never spoken to anyone about Rinna or Anya; the pain that surrounded the memories of those two was too strong. But now that he had, the weight of that pain seemed somehow less. He was tired of being _alone_, tired of his life being so superficial. With Emberlin it didn't have to be, not anymore. Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Zev" she murmured. "It was wrong of me to ask you to tell me those stories. I never meant to cause you pain." Cause him_ pain_? She had just inadvertently broken down all the walls he had built over the years and yes, it _did_ hurt. But it was a cleansing pain, like the flame of rebirth. He raised his head from her shoulder and met her eyes with a smoldering hunger. He pressed his mouth to hers, tenderly giving her thanks in the only way he knew how. She was clearly unaware of it, but this was the second time she had saved him and with that realization came the knowledge that he could no longer deny the depth of his feelings for her. She was the balm to his tortured soul and he was as addicted to her as any templar was to lyrium.

Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her down to the blankets, to show her his affection by worshipping her body with all the skills in which he had been taught. And together, they created their own heat as the fire burned low beside them.


	5. Chapter 5: The Storm Comes

**Title: **The Storm Comes

**Characters:** Zevran, f!Amell

**Rating:** M for sexual content

**Summary:** In the night before the party leaves for Denerim and the Landsmeet, Emberlin and Zevran reflect on their relationship.

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own Dragon Age or its characters.

Zevran sat on the bed cross-legged, eyes closed, his back slightly relaxed against the headboard. He was dressed in a comfortable linen shirt and pants, and his hair was still slightly damp from the bath. It felt absolutely glorious to feel clean again, not to mention having a private room with a bed. In the two months since Orzammar, they had not once stayed in an inn, not even in Haven. Certainly_ not _in Haven. Arl Eamon, however, had extended every courtesy to their group, once he had recovered from his brush with death. It was unfortunate they would not be staying long, but everyone seemed in haste to reach Denerim in time for the Landsmeet.

Zevran sat in perfect stillness, each muscle relaxed, but with every sense entirely aware. He could feel the faint heat from the nearby hearth and hear the crackle of the flames. It was the calm before the storm; who knew what chaos awaited them in Denerim? _Best enjoy what little peace we have while we can._ Finally, he heard what he had been waiting for, the soft footsteps of his Warden approaching the room.

He opened his eyes as she entered. Even as disheveled as she was, she was still quite breathtaking. Dark hair, the rich hue of the earth, framed her pale face, accentuating the emerald facets of her eyes. But those eyes looked sadly dull, and she was leaning on her staff wearily. She straightened though, when she saw him and smiled as she made her way to the bed. Propping her staff against the wall, she lay on the bed with her head in his lap, releasing a small sigh of satisfaction.

"If we actually survive the Blight, I never want to have anything to do with politics again," she muttered. Zevran wove his fingers into the softness of her hair and began to massage her scalp.

"I gather your talk with Eamon and Alistair did not go well then?" he inquired. Emberlin sighed.

"Not really. Eamon is adamant that Alistair should be king, and Alistair is dragging his heels because he doesn't want the throne. Personally, I don't blame him." She turned her head to give his fingers access to the back of her neck. "Hmm, you have no idea how good that feels."

He lowered his fingers to her neck and rubbed the tense muscles bunched on either side of her spine. "I'm guessing Eamon wants your support for his plan, yes?"

"He thinks I can persuade Alistair to become king."

"And will you?"

"No." She let out an explosive, frustrated sigh. "How can I condemn a friend to a cage when I know what it's like to be caught in one? If he becomes king, he loses his freedom, just as I did in the Circle and you did with the Crows. Alistair only ever wanted to be a Warden, and he's happy with his life as one. Who am I to take that away from him simply to please the nobles?" She closed her eyes and relaxed into his massage. He always seemed to know exactly what she needed whether it be an understanding ear or a supportive touch. No one in her life had ever affected her quite like this assassin. Yet there was always the underlying fear that he would leave, fly away like the wild bird he was. She would not cage him for she knew very well the heady taste of freedom, and she would never deny him this. But there were still others who would, which brought other questions to mind.

"Zev?" She turned to look up at him.

"Hmm?" His eyes were closed, lost in his own thoughts.

"You mentioned once that your life was forfeit since you had failed to . . . kill me." She grimaced at the reminder of their first meeting. "Will the Crows come after you?" There was a small twist of pain in her chest as she asked the question. It wasn't the first time she had wondered, but it _was_ the first time she had found the courage to ask.

Zevran opened his eyes and looked down at her, face carefully masked in that way she knew too well. "Yes, I suppose they shall, but this need not worry you, _mi querida_. If it happens, I will handle it." A hard edge crept into his voice at that last sentence, his eyes narrowing slightly. She shivered a little. Most of the time, she was able to forget that this man was quite dangerous, a trained killer, and very different from the gentle Zevran she had come to know in their rare private moments. Strangely, she loved the killer no less than the lover.

"But what will they do? If they catch you?" She knew the answer already; at least she thought she did. But still, she needed to know. His brow furrowed slightly, and he looked away.

"From previous experiences, I imagine they will . . . want to make an example of me to other Crows. They will not want to waste the opportunity to remind other assassins of the penalties of failure, not to mention the consequence of fleeing the Guild. In all probability, my last days will be most . . . unpleasant." He shook his head slightly and looked back at her, stroking her hair from her face. "But enough, _querida_, why do we discuss such things? You have many other issues to think about; do not trouble yourself on my account."

She reached up and cupped his cheek in her palm, her eyes filled with all the emotion she couldn't express. "You have always been worth the trouble, Zevran. If they come, I will _not_ allow them to take you." With that proclamation still hanging between them, she sat up, straddling his legs. The mask, that damnable blank expression he always hid behind was gone, and for once, she could see _something_ in those glowing amber eyes: surprise, wonder, _hunger_. The last one she could answer, and did so with all the passion she could muster with lips, tongue, and mouth.

#####

Her question had surprised him, not that she had remembered the Crows, but that she was thinking of it _now_, with so much else going on. Even in the midst of all the damned Ferelden politics they were pulling her into, she was still thinking of _him_. And that answer . . . the forcefulness behind her assertion was startling. He had known for some time that her feelings for him were strong, but this was the first time he had ever witnessed anyone being so protective of him. It stripped him of every defense, rendered him vulnerable in a way he had never allowed anyone to see before. And then she was sitting before him, emerald eyes full of longing, full of every emotion that she was feeling, and that he had never let himself feel. For once, eloquent words failed him; then her lips met his, and the world was turned upside-down.

For this time, she took the lead. Always, he had been the initiator, the one who led the dance between them. But with that first kiss, she took control and all he could do was absorb the heat and hunger pouring from within her, filling every pore in his skin with desire, consuming him with need.

She tasted delightfully of berries, a favorite dessert she indulged in whenever the fruit was available. Her teeth nibbled at his lower lip and her hands were sliding under his shirt, pushing it up over his head. He reached for her robes, but she grinned and swatted his hands away, leaning back in for another kiss. Tongue slid against tongue, and she shifted her hips forward, wickedly rubbing against a certain spot that made him groan in response.

"Aiee, _mi querida_. You have become quite the tease! Remove your robes so that I may reciprocate, hmm?" She laughed and shook her head.

"Not yet, Zev. It's time your student showed you everything she has learned." Smiling slyly, she trailed fingertips over his chest slowly. "And then what she has invented as well." Still grinning, she released just a small amount of elemental ice magic from her fingertips, just as her fingers caressed his nipples. He gasped, nipples hardening almost instantly beneath the icy touch. She continued to trace a cold path along a tattoo spiraling over his stomach, sending shivers through hard muscles.

"Ahh, so you seek to torture me with your magic?" She was deftly removing his pants, casting them aside impatiently. He groaned as she wickedly drew her finger along the inside of his thigh, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

"Maybe." She grinned wickedly at him and lowered her tongue to the goose bumps, licking a warm streak up his thigh to combat the cold. An icy finger slid up his other thigh, which was again followed by wet heat. The contrast in sensations sent waves of pleasure straight to his erection, and it twitched involuntarily. She chuckled and wrapped her hand firmly around the shaft.

"Hmm, I believe _this_ is calling for attention." She let loose a pulse of heat from her hand and stroked slowly. He moaned, shocked at how quickly he was losing control. Truly, she had become quite a master at knowing exactly how to make his body react. Warm magic enfolded his length, and she bent her head to taste the liquid forming at the slit. She hummed and probed the opening gently with her tongue. His breathing was ragged now, hands holding her head as he thrust up and into the enticing wetness of her mouth. But she drew away smiling, leaving him groaning in protest.

"Oh no, not yet, Zev darling." She stood and slowly began to undress while he watched hungrily. Mage robes were _far_ too concealing in his opinion. He had to admit, however, that this made their removal all the more seductive. Bland, gray cloth fell away to reveal luscious curves and soft flesh. Reaching up, she removed the pins holding back her thick, silky mane of hair and he drank in the sight of her beauty as she stood before him. Obviously, she was still feeling the need to tease him, and he followed her every move as she licked one finger and caressed her hard, darkened nipple. Another twitch from his manhood signaled his desire, and she smiled, approaching him once more.

Straddling his legs, she lowered her chest and ran the full swells of her breasts against his length. He hummed his pleasure and tried to reach for her, but again she pulled away. Her emerald eyes sparkled at him mischievously, and she raised one hand, wiggling her fingers. Tiny sparks darted between her fingertips, and his eyes widened.

"My dear Warden, you are playing _dangerous_ tonight. Should I be worried?" His eyes never left her fingers and without thinking, he licked his lips. She grinned in triumph as his hips shifted restlessly.

Her gaze never leaving his, she lowered her hand to his erection and circled it with her fingers. Very carefully, she released just a tiny surge of lightning, just a small hum of energy. He gasped, hips bucking, fists clenching the sheets. Before he could completely recover, she pulsed another surge through her fingers while starting to stroke his shaft. He groaned, back arching, a stream of Antivan words flowing between ragged breaths.

She reveled in his pleasure, at being able to make _Zevran_ lose control. It was important to exercise great care in using her magic, however, or she could hurt him. She needed to maintain her focus, which was why she wasn't allowing him to return the favor. Tonight was about _him_, about showing him her love in the only way she felt he would accept. Words would frighten him, but physical touch would not. So she would give him all the pleasure that was in her power to give, enough to match the fullness in her heart.

His body shuddered beneath her fingers, each pulse of energy bringing forth soft cries, his skin covered with a sheen of sweat that enticed her tongue to lick at the gathering moisture. The moment her lips touched his chest, his hand was in her hair, clenching the silky strands as his hips thrust up into her hand.

"_Mi Ember, mi querida . . . por favor mi Ember . . . no puedo soportar . . . quiero estar dentro de usted . . . por favor . . ._ "

She did not understand the words, but she understood his need. Releasing his shaft, she straddled him, looking into those amber eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire. His hands gripped her hips hard, and she thrust back, taking him inside her as he cried out, hips thrusting up to meet hers. Her own body shuddered as she felt the power of his need filling her, the strength of his hands on her hips as they guided the rhythm of their joining. Her mind was gone; there were only feelings, only sensations: heat, desire, _completeness_. She felt him swell inside her, his ecstasy bringing them both to the very edge of the precipice. As she fell, as _they_ fell, she shouted his name and felt his release deep inside, liquid heat binding them together.

She collapsed on top of him, exhausted trembling limbs tangling with his. For this short time, the Landsmeet and the Blight were far away, and there was only Zevran. It was for him she lived and for him she would continue, until the world was safe enough for them to truly be together. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she belonged with him, but she still wasn't sure if he felt the same way. If he wished to leave after the Blight . . . well, she wouldn't stop him. She loved him too much to keep him caged; he was meant to be free. But the thought of him leaving her made her eyes ache with unshed tears, and she pressed her face against his chest. His arms slipped around her, and she felt his mouth nuzzling her hair.

"Mmmm,_ querida_. I think I have nothing left to teach you." She could hear the amusement in his voice. "Indeed, you have _quite_ surpassed my expectations." He chuckled softly, his breath tickling her ear. She smiled against his chest, allowing his playfulness to drag her away from her fears.

"Oh, I think we still have much to teach each other." She shifted her body so that she was lying at his side, one leg slung over his, her arm across his chest, green eyes meeting golden ones. "I'm not even _close_ to being finished with you." She took comfort in the fact that he didn't look away from the raw feeling she poured into that statement. And when he stroked the back of his fingers against her cheek, she allowed herself to hope.

"_Buena, mi flor_. The storm comes, but we shall fight together, yes? Neither noble, nor darkspawn shall stand against your magic and my blades. We shall bring the lightning to them, _querida_." His arms tightened around her, and she took comfort in his confidence, in that word-_together_.


	6. Chapter 6: Shadows

**TITLE: **Shadows

**CHARACTERS: **Zevran, f!Amell

**RATING: **M

**SUMMARY: **Zevran and Oghren rescue the Warden from Fort Drakon. The Warden meets Taliesin.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters.

She passed the time thinking of all the various ways she could kill Anora for getting her into this predicament. Time had no meaning here, in this small dank cell, lit only by a flickering torch in the hall outside. There was only the ever-present chill creeping into her bones as she huddled against Alistair, both of them fighting shivers as well as the aches of their many bruises. The guards had taken great pleasure in beating both of them before leaving them here, barely conscious. She wondered bitterly if the beating had been ordered or if it was merely a favorite sport that the guards enjoyed. Damn Anora for not having the courage to stand up to Ser Cauthrien. Was she afraid of her own father?

Alistair shifted uncomfortably, tightening his arms around her in an effort to keep her warm. She snuggled gratefully against the bulky warrior, ignoring the fact that they were both wearing only smallclothes. He had tried uselessly to protect her when the beating began and had drawn most of their wrath as a result. She knew he was hurting badly, yet he was more concerned for her warmth than for his own discomfort. A flood of love for her fellow Warden filled her heart, and she wrapped her arms around him. He glanced down at her in concern.

"Emberlin? You okay?" She forced a weary smile.

"Yes, Alistair. Just appreciating how nice and warm you are." He touched her hair shyly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop them. I tried . . . " She shook her head and looked up at him.

"Alistair, there was nothing you could have done. Don't worry about it. Hopefully, the others will be here soon, and then we can go teach Anora a lesson." She tried to laugh weakly, but she could feel the anger in his tensed muscles.

"I can't believe her . . . and Eamon wants me to consider marrying that woman? Forget it! She's no better than her father!"

"Alistair, if you don't want the throne, we will need Anora to rule. There's no one else." She sighed, reflecting on the rather poor choices Ferelden had for a monarchy.

"Yes, I suppose so." He shook his head. "She has been a good leader and well-loved by the people, at least. I'm not about to forget what she and her father have done to us, but if she rules well, then that's all that matters." He laughed bitterly. "I'd just as soon be as far away from court as I can get." Well, she completely agreed with _that_ sentiment. Another shiver of cold wracked her body, bringing back the pain of her bruises. She was pretty sure some ribs were broken, and it was becoming more and more excruciating to breathe.

A shout echoed down the dim stone corridor, and Alistair looked up apprehensively. She tensed in fear and felt his arms tighten around her protectively. More shouts sounded, accompanied by the shrieks of metal against metal. A rough, deep laugh rose above the chaos.

"A good battle is almost better than a good brew! Keep it up, pointy-ears!" Emberlin almost laughed before remembering the broken ribs. She had never been so happy to hear Oghren's voice.

"I hardly need to do anything, my dear smelly dwarf. Your stench alone will clear us a path quite easily." Her heart pounded at the sound of Zevran's velvet accent. Weakly, she tried to stand, but collapsed in pain. Alistair hovered over her, a goofy smile splitting his grimy face.

"Can you bring your stench over here?" he yelled. "We've waited long enough for you guys to show a little interest in us!" He glanced down, his smile vanishing at the sight of Emberlin gasping in pain. "And we have an injured lady here who needs some attention!"

Antivan curses flew down the corridor, and then Zevran was at the cell door fumbling with the lock. Alistair noticed that Zevran's fingers were trembling, but his face was carefully blank as he thrust the door open and knelt beside Emberlin.

"_Mi querida_ . . . " His voice was soft, his hands careful as he quickly assessed her injuries. She gazed up at him, tears brightening her emerald eyes. He touched her cheek reassuringly, murmuring softly in Antivan. Oghren arrived, carrying Alistair's armor, piled so high in his arms that his face was invisible.

"We need to get her to a healer, Zevran," said Alistair, wincing and grunting as he slowly donned his armor. His own pain was significant, but he was used to injuries and could endure till they got out of this accursed fortress.

"_Si_, we will," affirmed the assassin. He carefully gathered the small mage in his arms, trying hard not to jostle her any more than was necessary. She stifled a moan and rested her head wearily on his shoulder. Zevran glanced quickly over at Alistair.

"I cannot fight with her in my arms, _mi amigo_. Are you able to help Oghren?" The big warrior reached for his sword and shield, flinching as he settled the large bulwark on his arm.

"I'll manage. Let's get out of this hole. Oghren's not exactly helping the smell down here." He forced a weak smile while the burly dwarf glared up at him.

"And you think you smell like a field of flowers? I hope you can fight better than you look, because I'm not dragging your nug-humping ass outta here, pike-twirler!" Grumbling under his breath, Oghren led the way back down the damp corridor.

#####

The sensation of coolness on her brow woke her from a troubled sleep. She had been dreaming of the Archdemon again, and she could tell from the intensity of the dream that the demon was so much closer now. The final battle was fast approaching, and she could only hope desperately that the army she had formed would be enough.

She opened her eyes to see Wynne bending over her, wiping her face with a cool, damp cloth. A quick mental assessment ascertained that she had already been cleaned and bandaged, the scent of herbs still permeating the air. Her first thought was for her assassin, but a survey of the small, dimly lit room indicated his absence. She quelled the disappointment and tried to smile up at Wynne.

"So I guess I'm still alive to fight?" Wynne quirked her lips grimly and shook her head.

"Not yet, you aren't. You'll be resting for a few days at least, you and Alistair both. It was fortunate that neither of you were seriously injured, but you're still in no condition to be up and about. The others can shoulder some responsibilities while the two of you heal." She reached for a small bowl of broth on a nearby table. "Now that you're awake, I want you to try to sip some of this. You need to regain your strength."

"Alistair is okay then?" She dutifully opened her mouth as Wynne brought the spoon to her lips.

"He will be fine after a few days of rest, if I can keep him calm enough. He's quite vocal about going after Loghain." She sighed and shook her head. "Fortunately, Anora has been wise enough to keep her distance from him."

A flood of fury swept through Emberlin. "She better keep her distance from both of us after what she did. Did she even bother to give an explanation for her behavior?"

"She claims that she was afraid of Loghain and felt that she made the best decision possible under the circumstances. Her claim didn't sit well with Zevran, however." Emberlin's heart leaped at the sound of the Antivan's name.

"What happened, Wynne?" The older mage grimaced.

"He very nearly attacked Anora is what he did. After they returned with you and Alistair, he was in quite a rage. Leliana and I went with him to confront Anora and Eamon while Morrigan tended to you and Alistair. I didn't want to leave you, but one look at Zevran's face, and I knew there was going to be trouble. When Anora stated that her actions were logical, he actually had his daggers out before Leliana managed to grab him. I was afraid I was actually going to have to paralyze him." Emberlin closed her eyes briefly, suppressing a smile at the thought of the elderly mage trying to subdue the wild elf. "Fortunately, Leliana was able to calm him down and get him out of there. He came here and until this morning, I couldn't get him to leave." She shook her head in exasperation.

"Where is he now?" Emberlin asked, hopefully.

"Apparently, there's trouble in the Alienage, and the gates have been opened to us. Leliana took Zevran and Sten to go investigate and see what's going on in there. It took quite a bit of persuasion to convince Zevran to leave you, but Leliana wanted an elf present in the hope that it would help in talking to the Alienage elves. Also, I think she's pretty nervous about leaving Zevran anywhere near Anora." Even the usually humorless mage chuckled at that thought. Emberlin grinned.

"Yes, that may be a good idea." She finished the broth and lay back, surprised that she was already tired again. Wynne pursed her lips and set the bowl aside.

"Get some more rest, my dear. We need you and Alistair healed as soon as possible for the Landsmeet." She patted the younger mage's arm and left the room, closing the door behind her. Emberlin closed her eyes and sank back into the warm bliss of a dreamless sleep.

#####

This time she woke to the smell of exotic spices and the feel of warm, hard arms around her. Smiling sleepily, she twined her fingers into the ones resting on her stomach. Sensual lips caressed her neck, and she felt the heat of his breath on her ear.

"Ahh, the sleeping beauty wakes." Sharp teeth grazed her earlobe, and she turned her head to look up at him. Amber eyes filled with concern belied the teasing smile, and he released her hand to touch a sore cheek, which she assumed was probably quite bruised.

"I'm okay, Zev, thanks to Alistair, you, and Oghren. Is Alistair doing okay?"

"I hear that he is recovering nicely and eager to have words with Anora." The assassin's eyes hardened and his lips tightened in anger. "I will be happy to assist him if he wishes to kill her." She cupped his cheek gently.

"No, Zev. I care not for Anora, trust me. But we need a ruler, and even she is better than Loghain. Don't worry, I have no intention of letting her forget that Wardens suffered for her release. She will owe us a rather large favor, and I intend to call her on it at the appropriate time." He was stroking her hair, and she relaxed into the soothing caresses. "I knew you would come for me. It was the only reason I allowed them to take us captive. No fortress can stand against the great Zevran Arainai."

He kissed her forehead. "They were lucky you were still alive, or the halls would be running red with blood. I will not allow any more harm to come to you from these bickering nobles, _mi flor_. This I promise." His eyes blazed briefly, shimmering golden in the light of the fire. Feeling his fury, she decided to change the topic.

"How was the Alienage? What is happening there, Zev?" He settled back, drawing her against his chest carefully.

"There is definitely something evil infecting that place," he replied. "The authorities are calling it a plague, but it is obviously some kind of cover-up. Leliana decided to wait till either you or Alistair were well enough before addressing the situation. The Wardens command at least some respect among the elves there, and they clearly trust no one else." He was lightly stroking the back of her neck, a gesture he had learned long ago was useful in relaxing her. "Do not concern yourself with this now,_ mi querida_. You need rest, and our dear Wynne has actually trusted me enough to leave you in my care with some _very_ strict instructions. I believe one of them was to make sure you don't overexert yourself, which shall be _extremely_ difficult on my part. However, rather than subject myself to her glorious wrath and find myself banned from your room, I will do my very best to obey her command." She laughed at his saddened expression, wincing at the pain in her ribs.

"Well, I certainly don't want you on Wynne's bad side," she said, still chuckling softly. "We get enough lectures from her as it is. I think we can manage to behave for _one_ night." She snuggled against his warmth and yawned. "Just don't leave, please."

He pulled her closer to his body. "Never, _mi querida_."

#####

Five days later, Emberlin was happily browsing the marketplace, the events of the Alienage behind her. Unfortunately, the Landsmeet was now two days away, and her stomach was doing acrobatic tricks just thinking about it. Getting out and browsing the market wares had been Leliana's idea, a way to relax for a while instead of brooding over the coming showdown with Loghain. But while Leliana certainly seemed to relax while shopping, _she_ certainly could not. She watched as Leliana happily explored boots and shoes and tried to set her mind on finding something for Zevran. Glancing across the market square, her gaze fell a tall man standing in the shadow of the tavern. He seemed to be watching her quite intently, and she shook off a feeling of uneasiness and looked away. After all, she was a mage wandering freely around Denerim, and this was probably an unusual occurrence. Her disquiet grew, however, when she looked back and found that the man had disappeared. A quick scan of the area revealed no sign of the stranger, and she forced herself to relax. She was getting too skittish after her experience in the dungeon of Fort Drakon, she decided.

Leliana had wandered some distance away and was perusing some rather expensive jewelry. She hoped the vivacious bard remembered that their funds were pretty low at the moment, and they needed to save whatever was left for last minute preparations. Maybe it would be a good idea to go check the Chantry board to see if any tasks needed completed. She waved at Leliana, motioning that she would return momentarily and headed for the Chantry. Unfortunately, no new requests had been posted and she sighed regretfully. She turned to walk back to the market and almost stumbled directly into a man standing close behind her.

It was quickly evident that this was the same man who had been watching her earlier. In the light of the sun, his features were much more discernible and quite formidable. His hard, unsmiling face was framed with short dark hair on top and a tidy brown beard on the bottom. His armor was that of a rogue, and he had the daggers to prove it. His eyes were very dark and gleamed with obvious malice that made her take a step back.

"Is there something I can help you with, Ser?" She was uncomfortably aware that they were alone; even the Chantry templars had vanished.

His eyes narrowed and he leered nastily. "You have something I want, Warden. And I intend to retrieve it." He made no move to reach for his weapons, but she felt herself inwardly readying her magic.

"Is that so? And what exactly do I have that you want? If I have taken something that belongs to you, I will gladly return it." She kept her voice even and polite, her eyes rapidly searching his armor for any clues as to who he might be.

He laughed harshly, but no mirth reached those dark eyes. "It doesn't exactly belong _to_ me, but it certainly belongs _with_ me. And currently, it appears to be absent from your presence, so I suppose I shall have to wait for a better time to regain it. No matter; the right time will come. Crows know how to find their own kind, no?" He gave a slight, mocking bow and sauntered off down a nearby alley without looking back. Only after he was gone did she realize how hard her heart was pounding. She hurried back to the marketplace and found Leliana still at the jewelry stall. The red-head smiled and beckoned to her.

"Emberlin! Come and look at this gorgeous necklace! I know we don't have the money at the moment, but it would look simply delightful around your neck, and . . . " Her voice trailed off, and she grabbed Emberlin's arm in concern. "Ember, what's wrong? You're very pale."

"It's okay Leli, but please . . . can we go back now? I need to talk to Zevran." _A Crow . . . that man was a Crow. Maker, I hope Zevran is safe at the estate._

"Well, of course, if you wish," murmured Leliana. Her face showed her worry, but she wisely decided not to push the mage for details. They followed the road back to Eamon's estate, Emberlin struggling not to run.

#####

A quick search for her lover found him sitting at a desk in their room, vials and poisonous herbs scattered across the surface. He was carefully grinding the leaves and then measuring them into small piles. His face, furrowed in concentration, looked up as she walked in, and he smiled.

"Ahh, my Warden returns so soon! And did Leliana convince you to buy something lovely for me to see?" His smile faded as he noticed the anxiety in her face. Immediately, he was on his feet standing in front of her, hands cupping her face gently. "_Mi querida_, what is it?"

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to pull herself together. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes to meet the mesmerizing gaze of her assassin. "There was a man today . . . in the marketplace. He said . . . he approached me and . . . said I have something he wants. Zev, he said Crows know how to find their own. I think he was a Crow!" Zevran's reaction did nothing to calm her. He stiffened slightly, his face going carefully blank. His hands never left her face, however.

"_Querida_, describe this man to me, and tell me everything he said to you. _Everything_." Slowly, she described her encounter with the stranger, struggling to remember every detail. Zevran watched her intently while she talked, never moving. When she finished, he walked slowly to the window, his expression still blank. She followed him, laying her hand hesitantly on his arm.

"Zev? Who was he? Was he a Crow?"

He replied, staring sightlessly out the window. "His name is Taliesin. From what Ignacio told us weeks ago, he now carries the contract for your death. Apparently, he is also searching for me."

"To kill you?" She clenched her teeth in determination. She would _not_ allow this Taliesin to harm Zevran.

"Perhaps. Truly, I do not know what his orders . . . or his wishes are. I suspect we will soon find out." He was silent for a moment, staring out into the night. Then, as if remembering something, he quickly turned and wrapped his arms around her.

"Do not worry about him, _mi querida_. He is a Crow, yes, but so am I. He will not catch you unawares a second time. Come, it is late, and you should get some rest." He guided her gently to the bed.

"Aren't you going to join me?" She sat on the bed, grasping his hand entreatingly. He bowed and kissed the top of her head.

"Not yet, my Warden. I wish to go out for a bit and see if I can find any trace of this Crow. Perhaps I can end this threat before he has another chance to confront you. I will not allow him to endanger either you or Alistair." He moved fluidly to the weapon stand and retrieved his daggers. "Sleep, my lovely lady. Do not worry for me; I assure you that I will be careful." With a flash of an arrogant grin, he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.

She lay down as he had instructed, but sleep did not come. For long hours she remained awake, listening hopefully for his returning footsteps, but none came. Worries flew around her brain in vicious circles, leaving her restless and exhausted: Zevran, Taliesin, the Landsmeet, the Archdemon. Finally, in the early morning hours just before dawn, she fell into a fitful sleep, Zevran's side of the bed still empty.


	7. Chapter 7: The Point of No Return

**Title: **The Point of No Return

**Characters: **Zevran, f!Amell

**Rating:** M

**Summary: **Zevran decides between Taliesin and the Warden.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters.

The feeling of the warm sun on her face told her that morning had finally arrived. She turned over slowly, already dreading what she would find. Sure enough, Zevran's side of the bed was still cold and empty. Fear coiled in her stomach like a snake, and she sat up feeling more than a little worried. He had said that he intended to track down Taliesin; had he found him? And if so, what exactly had happened during that encounter? She fumbled with her robes, hands trembling and head throbbing with the beginnings of a headache. Just as she reached for her staff, the door opened and a rather tired-looking elf glided in the room. A quick appraisal showed no sign of injury, and she threw herself in his arms with relief.

"_Maker_, Zev! I've been so worried... " She burrowed happily into his chest, feeling for his heartbeat, needing to _know_ he was still alive. His arms wrapped around hers, his fingers brushing her hair from her anxious face.

"Ah, _mi querida_. I apologize for not returning sooner and causing you so much concern. I spent most of the night attempting to find our Crow friend, but was unsuccessful. He can be quite clever when he wants to go to ground." He gently lifted her chin with one finger to look into her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"No... I was just anxious when you didn't return. You said _most of the night_. What did you do the rest of the time?" Her eyes searched his amber ones questioningly, but they became guarded, and his usual mask dropped into place.

"I was simply... taking some time to think." He looked away. "Events have been occurring rather fast recently, no?" He sounded distracted, but before Emberlin could inquire further, a knock sounded at the door. Alistair entered, looking somewhat harried.

"Hey, are you two ready to go to the Gnawed Noble?" They had agreed yesterday to go to Denerim's tavern to get a feel for how the nobles would vote in the Landsmeet.

"Sure, I'm ready, Alistair. Zev, if you want to stay here and get some rest, that's fine." She touched his arm with concern.

"And miss all the fun to be had drinking and conversing with the Ferelden nobility?" Zevran's usual flippant demeanor had returned with Alistair's presence. "Surely you need my persuasive abilities to further your cause?"

Alistair groaned. "Please tell me you won't be flirting with the nobles. That's the _last_ thing we need." Emberlin stifled a laugh while Zevran pouted.

"I am hurt that you don't _trust _me, my dear Alistair. Unless you are jealous that I may direct my attentions to someone other than you?" He winked at the warrior, who hid his blushing face in his hand.

Emberlin laughed and nudged the assassin. "Okay, quit pestering poor Alistair. Let's go mingle with the upper class and get some votes, shall we?" She glanced at the Antivan as they left the room, still feeling worried. That damnable mask was back in place, showing no trace of the uncertainty he had displayed earlier. _What had he been thinking about_? She promised herself that they would continue the conversation later.

#####

Wynne decided to accompany them, hoping for a chance to see some acquaintances among the nobility. Emberlin was thrilled to hear that she knew some of them; perhaps the older mage could influence their decisions. It was a stunning spring day, warm and sunny, and she felt her headache easing along with her spirits. As they walked through the streets of Denerim, she smiled at the children running between the houses. Alistair also grinned at their laughter and watched them disappear around the corner chasing a ball.

"Now this is what we have been working so hard for, isn't it? A chance for these people to continue living their lives, happy and safe from darkspawn."

"A pretty picture to be sure," commented Zevran thoughtfully. "However, we must remember that not all people are happy, even without the darkspawn. There are many injustices in this world that occur every day. But at least we shall ensure that they shall continue, no?" He chuckled darkly, and Emberlin gave him a quick look. She had never forgotten their conversations about growing up in a cage, and she doubted Zevran had either.

"We can only fight one thing at a time, Zevran," said Alistair. "And hope that we can survive to fight again." He fell silent, looking around as they entered a quiet alley. Emberlin noticed that Zevran was also watchful, his gaze quickly scanning the shadows and nearby buildings. He had seemed distracted since they had left the Arl's estate. Was he expecting something? Then they turned a corner, and there he was-Taliesin. She recognized his arrogant stance easily. He stood alone at the top of a stone staircase, with arms crossed as if he had known they would come this way. He barely glanced at her this time; his eyes fastened instead on Zevran. The assassin stood quietly, meeting the burning gaze directed at him with his usual blank look. He appeared quite calm, but Emberlin knew him well enough to know he was tense. Taliesin turned his focus back to the mage.

"Greetings Warden, we meet again. It seems this time you bring that which I seek. Thank you for your cooperation." He leered at her and turned to face Zevran again, dismissing her from his attention. "I had to see it to believe it. The great Zevran Arainai traveling with Grey Wardens, the very marks he was supposed to kill." His eyes narrowed.

"Well, now you've seen me, Taliesin." Zevran had stepped forward to stand slightly in front of Emberlin. She watched him nervously, wondering exactly what was happening here. It was obvious that the two Crows were more than a little familiar with each other.

"Indeed," replied the tall human. He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head toward Emberlin. "Tell me _why_, Zevran. Is she a good replacement for Rinna? Does she warm your bed better than a whore? I admit she's quite striking in a way, but is she really worth drawing the wrath of the Masters?"

Fury washed over Emberlin like a wave of lava. She looked again towards her lover, waiting for his response. To her surprise, he made no move and no expression showed on his face. But his next words were hard and smooth, like a shard of ice.

"What I do, I do for my own reasons. You are not my Master, and I do not answer to _you_." She saw a small muscle in his jaw tighten, though outwardly, he was still calm.

Taliesin shook his head and spread his hands, taking two steps down the stairs toward Zevran. "Zevran, come back with me. You don't belong here in this backwoods country, with their rustic buildings and wet dogs. We can make up a story for the Guild. They will take you back; you were one of the best. Maker, you were headed to the top! Give it a few years, and you will be your own Master. Return with me and we shall kill by day and take our pleasures at night, just like we used to do." His eyes gleamed with a heated intensity.

"After we complete our contract, of course?" Zevran raised his eyebrows.

Taliesin laughed roughly. "Well, of course! It will hardly be difficult with you at my side." He smiled victoriously, obviously feeling he had succeeded.

Emberlin heard the faint clink of Alistair's armor as he shifted behind her, probably getting ready to defend them if necessary. She stood frozen in place, her eyes rooted to Zevran's face. Her entire world had shrunk to this dark alley, and she forgot everyone except Taliesin, Zevran, and herself. Everything Zevran and she had shared, everything they had gone through together, all of it trickled down to this one moment. She wanted to speak, to plead, _anything_ except what she was doing, which was to stand there helplessly. She kept remembering the closed look he had given her that morning, when he said he had taken some time to _think_. Was whatever he had with Taliesin stronger than what he shared with her? Was he going to leave? She knew, with a sinking, despairing feeling in her heart, that if he left, she could not stop him. She loved him enough to let him make his own choice. She realized that her only regret was that she had not taken the opportunity to tell him how she truly felt.

All eyes were locked on Zevran. Even Wynne had no advice to offer. The elf looked at Taliesin for several moments, his face completely unreadable. Finally, he lifted his chin and spoke calmly.

"I'm afraid that I will not be at your side, Taliesin. I am not the Zevran you once knew, and you... are _not_ what I need. I'm afraid that you should never have left Antiva, _mi amigo_." As Emberlin stood stunned, flooded with too many emotions to think clearly, Zevran smoothly drew his daggers and took a protective stance in front of her. His eyes narrowed dangerously at the other Crow. She heard a sigh of relief behind her and the sound of a sword being drawn. Taliesin stood quietly for just a moment, his eyes filling with fury and malice. Then, with his eyes never leaving Zevran, he raised his hand, and the alley erupted with the sounds of battle.

Emberlin finally emerged from her stupor and drew her staff. Crows were surrounding them, flanked by archers near the wall and at the top of the stairs. She pushed every emotion out of her mind and focused on paralyzing and disorienting as many of the enemy rogues as possible. Alistair was yelling battle cries while Zevran silently darted in and out of the fray, performing his deadly dance of attack. Wynne stood behind them, healing spells flowing out to them all. Emberlin turned to the archers and created a blizzard storm over their heads, then a grease spell to knock them off their feet a second time. Wynne cried out for help as rogues surrounded her, hemming her in and distracting her healing. Alistair and Zevran ran to her and began dispatching the Crows as quickly as possible. Momentarily distracted by the other mage's plight, Emberlin failed to notice a rogue rushing at her until the last moment. She ducked to avoid a blow and the rogue threw himself on her, slamming the hilt of his dagger against her head. Overwhelmed with pain and dizziness, she felt him tear her staff from her hand. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring up into the burning, poisonous eyes of Taliesin. He spit in her face.

"So, you think he loves you, Warden? Trust me, you don't know him _nearly_ as well as I do. He's incapable of love, you see. He's been trained as a Crow, and he's the best. You've been played for a fool, Warden, and it's time to pay the price." His eyes glowed with victory, and he raised the dagger above her heart. Suddenly, there was a blur as a boot kicked the dagger away, and a strong, tanned hand grabbed Taliesin's hair from behind. Within only a second, the human's head was yanked back, a dagger at his throat. Zevran's voice was so cold and full of menace, it made her shiver. Never had her lover seemed more dangerous.

"You asked me, my old friend, if she is worth it. Well I tell you, she is worth more than even the smallest scrap of my life... or yours. And you will never soil her air with your insults again." The dagger sliced deep, and blood spurted as Zevran threw Taliesin's body to the side. The rogue convulsed several times, the ground beneath him running red, and then went still. Zevran simply looked at him with contempt, and then turned to kneel at her side.

"My dear, how badly are you injured?" His hands ran swiftly over her robes, seeking for signs of blood.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her head. "I think my ego is more injured than anything else. I feel stupid for allowing him to catch me unaware." He offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. She looked around to see Alistair and Wynne looting the bodies. "Wow, we killed all the Crows already?"

Zevran grinned, looking more like his old self. "What are a few Crows compared to us? We are professionals, are we not? Even our young warrior has improved nicely, except for that persistent smell of cheese... "

"Hey! I heard that!" Alistair approached them, carefully avoiding Taliesin's body. "Er... sorry about your friend, Zev."

Zevran barely glanced at the fallen Crow. "Actually, Alistair, Crows don't have friends. They can't trust anyone enough to make any."

Alistair hesitated briefly, then reached out to rest his hand on the elf's shoulder. "Well, I think that you might be the exception to that rule. You _do_ have friends, here with us."

The assassin lifted his eyes to meet Alistair's gaze. No words were spoken, but he reached up and clasped the warrior's forearm in a tight grip. Fighting back tears, Emberlin laid her hand on top of his. Then Wynne was there too, her hand joining theirs, her smile encompassing the entire group. For that brief moment, past jokes and grievances were forgotten, and nothing else mattered except that they were together.

#####

Later that evening, Emberlin lay quietly on her bed staring at the wooden beams across the ceiling. They had succeeded in winning some of the nobles to their cause, but others were solidly behind Loghain. She had no clue what was going to happen tomorrow in the Landsmeet. To be honest, she had been rather distracted at the tavern, which was understandable considering they had gone straight there after the battle with the Crows. Wynne had been very understanding and told her to go relax in the corner while the rest of them mingled, but she had refused. All of them were shaken up; who was she to stand by while they worked? Nevertheless, she had been extremely relieved to finally return to Eamon's estate. She had hoped to be able to pull Zevran to their room and talk to him, but he had disappeared again shortly after their return. She assumed he was hiding out somewhere thinking again, and she was _not_ going to be the one to go looking for him. Let him come to her when he was ready. By now, she understood him enough to know that he would talk only when he was in the mood.

Just when she had resigned herself to another sleepless lonely night in her bed, the door opened, and Zevran entered. He moved fluidly to the bed and sat down beside her, his mask in place as always. She felt a brief moment of fear, but then he reached out and stroked her hair from her face, and she relaxed into the familiar endearing caress.

"Does your head still hurt, my Warden?" She listened carefully to his tone but heard only concern.

"It's better now, although talking to all those nobles didn't exactly help it." She smiled and laid her hand over his. "Zev... " She bit her lip. "Is now a good time for us to talk?" She would not push him if he was feeling skittish, but things needed settled. She wanted answers, especially now when they were so close to the end.

He brushed her abused lip gently with his thumb. "Actually... yes. I have some things I wish to say." Surprised, she stared up at him mutely, and then nodded her head for him to continue.

"Taliesin is dead, which opens new possibilities for me. The Crows will assume, for a while at least, that I am dead also. They will stop searching for me, which means that I finally have what I wished for-freedom. It is probably only temporary, until one of them sees me somewhere, but I think that I shall be safe for a significant amount of time." He looked away towards the window. "I could leave... go somewhere far from Antiva."

Her heart stopped. _No, please, no_.

"Or... I can stay here if I'm wanted." He turned his face back to hers, eyes burning with a familiar intensity that made her entire body ache for him. She reached out with both hands, cupping his face between them.

"Zev... of course, you are _wanted_. Did you not hear what Alistair said today?"

He smiled in remembrance. "Well, as handsome as Alistair is, it isn't _his _desire I'm looking for."

Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked quickly to dispel them. "_I_ want you with me, Zev. Please."

He sat back with a smile that she _swore_ looked relieved. "Then it's settled! I couldn't_ possibly_ miss the final battle, after all." He fumbled with the pouch on his belt. "If it's okay with you, I would like to give you something." He opened his hand to reveal a gold earring, beautifully crafted with emeralds. "You helped me against Taliesin, and that... meant a lot to me. I would like you to have this earring. I took it off my very first mark, as a symbol of my accomplishment, and I've had it ever since. The merchant I took it from was quite handsome, but his beauty was nothing compared to yours. Please, take it."

It was the first time he had ever offered her a gift. She stared at the beautiful piece of jewelry in wonder. "Is it... is it a token of your affection?" She knew she was treading dangerous waters now, asking him about _feelings_. But it was past time they discussed this; she needed to _know_.

He looked down at the earring. "What do I know of affection? It has meant a great deal to me, as have... " He blew out a sigh of frustration. "Just take it, please?"

There was a long silence. He was looking at her pleadingly, which was why it broke her heart to say what she did. "I can't, Zevran. I'm sorry, but I can't accept it as only a thank you."

Fury clouded his eyes, and his mouth set in a grim line. He closed his palm and thrust the earring back in his pouch. "After all the trinkets we have picked up, and you can't accept this? Very well." He stood quickly and had almost reached the door before she spoke.

"Zevran, _STOP_." Her voice was strong and held a note of command she had _never_ used with him. He paused, his hand on the door latch, his back still towards her.

"You will _not_ walk out of here until I explain why I am refusing it. You _will_ listen to me, you stubborn Antivan." She rose and went to stand behind him. "Do you think I don't know how you were trained? How you were taught to bury every sentimental feeling in a secret chest and throw away the key? Do you think I don't understand how difficult it is for you to express your true feelings? But you are _not _without feelings, Zevran Arainai! I _know _this; I have _seen _it. I have seen it in your eyes, in the way you look at me, in the way you touch me, in the way you protect me in battle. You hide your emotions behind a mask because you _think _they make you weak." She shook her head fiercely. "You are _not_ weak, far from it. You are the strongest person I have ever met, Zev. When you realize this, when you start to believe in yourself and in us, then and _only_ then, can I accept your gift."

For a moment, he stood completely still. Then he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the wall. His eyes were very bright, but most importantly, the mask was gone. Every line in his face was etched in agony, his eyes burned so hot that her skin felt like it was burning.

"You wish to know how I feel? _ Truly_?" He hissed, pushing her harder against the wall. "When another man looks at you, I want to cut him with my dagger. Whenever those idiot nobles speak to you like you are of no consequence, I want to leave them _dead_ in your wake. My skin burns hotter than the Antivan sun every time you _look_ at me. When you touch me, I am _lost_ in the very essence of you. When I taste you, it is sweeter than the rarest _chocolat_. When I'm inside you... " He closed his eyes, breathing raggedly. "When I'm inside you, I am _home_." Suddenly drained of his anger, he leaned his forehead against her shoulder. "Once I wanted to die, but now I want to _live_... but only if you are beside me," he whispered.

Tears streamed down her face like a cleansing spring rain. Her heart was raw, ripped bare, and refilled with the intensity of his words. Her throat swelled with the need to swallow, but she couldn't swallow, couldn't speak. Gently, she placed her hands against his face and raised it so she could look in his eyes. He was breathing hard, and his hands still gripped her shoulders as if he were afraid to let go. His gaze was stripped wide open, the echoes of his words reflected in their amber depths. Her fingers slowly traced the tattoo on his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. She drew her lips to his, and very gently, she kissed him.

"I love you, Zevran Arainai," she whispered. A tremor ran through his body at her words, and then his lips were crushing hers, bruising her mouth with his need. Slender, calloused hands weaved into her hair and fisted possessively, drawing her closer. With a strangled moan, she leaned into him, clutching the armor he still wore. Gasping, he drew away and before she could even move, he had swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. As he laid her down, she wrapped her hand around his neck pulling him back into a passionate kiss. Maker, but she had never had so much_ need_ of him. She tore at the buckles of his armor in frustration, and he stood quickly and deftly removed the top and pants. She yanked at her robes, shoving them aside, and then he was on top of her, lips pressed against her neck as she tilted her head back for him. Her hands trailed slowly down his smooth back and clenched his muscular buttocks, pulling his pelvis against hers. She moaned as his hardness brushed against her thigh, and he growled against her neck in response. Her back arched, and he latched onto her swollen nipple, sucking and biting as her hands buried into his silky hair.

She cried out and wrapped her legs desperately around his waist. This could not be a gentle lovemaking; their need was too great, their hearts too raw. He shifted only slightly and slid into her wetness with a strangled moan. For a brief moment, he held himself still, his forehead against hers.

"Look at me, _querida_. Look at me while I show you how I feel." His voice was hoarse, accent thick with emotion. His eyes never leaving hers, he began to move, filling her completely, again and again. His blond hair swayed about his face with each thrust, his eyes filled with a golden fire that burned hot. She moaned in pleasure, struggling to keep her eyes open and focused on his. Smooth skin slid against her wetness, and she could feel him swelling harder inside her. Heat coiled low in her belly, expanding with each thrust, and she clenched her muscles around him with every brush against her sensitive spot. His breathing was uneven now, and his hands held her head firmly, not allowing her to look away.

"_Mi amor... tu es mi vida... soy tuyo... mi Ember... _" His rhythm began to unravel, hips jerking against hers as they spiraled upward, and he was carrying her beyond the stars. She moaned, and he swelled inside, pulsing his essence deep within, crying out her name. His eyes closed at last, lost in ecstasy, and he sank his teeth deep into her shoulder as his body shuddered. She exploded, back arching against him, fingernails scrabbling at his back. Her entire world was right here, she would never need anything or anyone except him. For a while, they both drifted, lost to everything except each other. He rolled to his side, pulling her flush against him, her head resting next to his chest. Her heart was almost too full to speak, but there was something else she had to say.

"Zev?"

"_Si, mi amor_?"

"Um... I would really love to have that earring now." She tried to suppress a giggle, but it bubbled up anyway.

He laughed. "Hmmm... _now_ she wants it." He leaned over the bed to retrieve his pouch and then returned with the jewelry. "And here I was certain you didn't _like_ it." He held it above her head just out of reach, teasing her with a grin. She made a mock grab for it, and then glared at him.

"It's because I want to wear it so that everyone will know I'm yours." His smile faded, and that intensity returned to his eyes.

"In that case, I shall put it in, _now_." He stood quickly and walked over to the bag where he kept his supplies. She watched his _very_ sexy backside as he leaned over and felt that she could definitely go for a second session. He turned back holding a small leather case and noticed her gaze. Chuckling softly, he sat beside her and withdrew a very sharp needle from the case.

"So impatient for more already? But first, the earring." He reached out and stroked her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. "This will hurt some, _mi querida_."

She nodded her understanding. "I know." He continued to massage the earlobe gently, studying it. Then, so very fast, she felt a sharp pain followed by a heated ache and the feel of her blood trickling from the pierced flesh. He wiped it with a soft cloth, and then she felt another lesser sting as he slid the earring in. There was a little more wiping, and then he set aside the case. Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet and walked her to the nearby mirror, situating her in front of him.

"It is perfect for you, my Warden. The emeralds bring out the green fire in your eyes." She looked at the earring in the reflection, fingering it gingerly. Her eyes met Zevran's in the mirror, and she could see his desire as his gaze raked down over her body's image in the mirror. Grinning slyly, she turned to face him and pushed him back towards the bed.

"And now that I'm marked as yours, what mark of mine shall _you_ wear, my beautiful assassin?" He lay back on the bed, and she crawled on top of him, deliberately brushing against his length.

"Ahh... whatever mark you choose, _mi amor_." He slowly bucked his hips upward, grinding against her pelvis, and she gasped.

"I think I'll have to decide that later, since you are quite distracting me at the moment." He laughed and pulled her into a deep kiss. The fire cast flickering shadows on their bare skin, its heat unheeded as they created their own.

_You see everything, you see every part_

_You see all my light, and you love my dark_

_You dig everything of which I'm ashamed_

_There's not anything to which you can't relate_

_And you're still here._

_Alanis Morrisette, "Everything"_

"


	8. Chapter 8: Checkmate

**Title:** Checkmate

**Characters: **F!Amell, Zevran

**Rating: **M

**Summary: **Decisions are made during the Landsmeet.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters.

"The Landsmeet has voted in favor of the Warden!"

Arl Eamon's voice rang out clearly in the vast palace hall. Emberlin closed her eyes in relief. The vote had been close, but they had prevailed over the devious Regent. _Just in time too; the archdemon is almost upon us_, she thought_. We need to get organized instead of bickering over politics. _She opened her eyes and saw Loghain glaring at her with utter hatred. She met his stare without flinching. He was going to have to answer for his crimes, and she felt no pity for him. In the balconies above the main floor, the gathered Banns and Arls of Ferelden murmured among themselves as they waited for Loghain's reaction. Alistair, Wynne, Leliana, and Zevran waited tensely behind her.

"You are all fools and traitors." Loghain shifted his gaze to the nobles above. "You think this young mage can defeat an Old God? You think she can lead our armies against the darkspawn and win? Fools!" He waved an arm dismissively toward the balconies and turned back to face Emberlin. "I challenge you, mage. Let a duel decide who is best able to lead our country against the Blight." He lifted his chin in defiance, his eyes narrowing. "Fight me or choose your champion from these misfits who follow you." His hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword.

She sighed and glanced up at the nobles. They were silent, obviously content to allow the duel to proceed, which was hardly unexpected. Somehow, she had known it would come to this. Loghain was simply too power-hungry to step down gracefully and she had no choice but to remove him. She met Loghain's gaze with a defiance of her own and drew her staff. However, before she could take a step forward, a strong hand gripped her arm and pulled her back. She looked to her side, shocked, as Zevran moved to stand in front of her.

"I accept your challenge on behalf of the Warden, Ser" said Zevran, with a slight bow to the Regent. Horrified, Emberlin reached out to pull the elf back, but his head whipped around and fiery, determined eyes met hers. His face was set and hard, and she knew with a sinking heart that she would not prevail over his decision. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair take a step forward, his face clouded with anger. Quickly, she reached out and laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. She shook her head mutely, hoping desperately that he would understand. Now was not the time or place to show any dissension in their group. Alistair pressed his lips together grimly but fell back a few steps.

Loghain sneered at the assassin. "Ah," he murmured in a low voice, unheard by the nobles. "Here is the Crow who took my money and then failed his mission. What happened, elf? Did she twitch her skirts at you and take you to her bed in exchange for her life?" Zevran's face remained carefully blank and betrayed no more emotion than a statue. But by now, Emberlin knew that when Zevran had that look, the one that said _I really don't care what you say_, that was when he was the most dangerous. No doubt, Loghain thought he had the advantage since he was so much larger and more powerfully built than Zevran. A confident smirk crossed the warrior's face as he drew his sword and laughed at the assassin. "Come then, little elf, shall we play?"

Zevran smiled then, a very slow and poisonous smile, and his eyes glittered with ice. With a well-practiced flourish, he drew his daggers and held himself in a casual defensive stance. "It is rare indeed when I have the opportunity to fight against such a _famous _opponent. You are called the Hero of River Dane, are you not? I sincerely _do _hope you will not turn tail and run from our duel, which I am told is what you did at Ostagar. I would be _most_ disappointed." His grin widened as he beckoned for Loghain to attack.

With a roar of fury, Loghain lunged at the assassin, bringing the full force of his strength to bear. Zevran sidestepped him neatly and ducked under the larger man's shield. Loghain swiveled around and tried to bash Zevran with his shield, but the elf dropped down and rolled away easily. Back and forth they moved, with Loghain always on the attack while Zevran merely avoided his blows, chuckling softly all the while. It soon became quickly obvious to the crowd that the Crow was toying with Loghain, expending very little effort in his defensive maneuvers. Loghain finally noticed this and reined in his diminishing strength, circling Zevran with an impatient scowl.

"Come, Ser Hero," Zevran called out. "When shall we stop playing and become more serious? Surely you are not growing _tired_?"

Loghain narrowed his eyes in anger. "Are you afraid to attack me, elf? You seem to be better skilled at doing somersaults than using your weapons. Are Crows nothing more than fancy acrobats?"

Zevran laughed. "And here I was trying to _entertain_ our attentive audience. Very well, let us _dance_." In a blur of blades, Zevran whirled around the larger man, dodging Loghain's sword and finally putting the warrior on the defensive. As experienced as he was, Loghain simply could not compete with Zevran's speed and dexterity. It was like watching a lumbering giant attempting to swat away a persistent bee. Within less than a minute, the assassin had deftly disarmed Loghain and forced him to his knees. With one dagger pressed firmly to Loghain's throat, Zevran leaned in close to the warrior's ear.

"She granted me mercy, my dear Ser" Zevran hissed. "I cannot say that I hope she will grant you the same. You have been quite... _annoying_." He removed the dagger from Loghain's throat and laid the flat of the blade against the warrior's cheek. "Send my regards to the Antivan Crows." With a final dark chuckle, he straightened and returned to Emberlin's side.

Eamon flicked his gaze from Loghain to Emberlin. "The duel is finished, and the victory goes to you, Warden. Loghain's fate is yours to decide."

There was only one option, really. At least she had thought there was only one, but at that moment, Riordan stepped forward. She had forgotten he was even there, standing off to the side with the Reverend Mother. But now he moved to stand beside Loghain.

"Fellow Warden, may I respectfully offer a suggestion?" At Emberlin's nod, he continued. "Loghain is an experienced leader, if a bit... misguided in his morals. Nevertheless, he can still be of use to Ferelden. Might I suggest we conscript him to the Grey Wardens?" A hush fell over the hall. Anora, who had been standing tensely beside the Reverend Mother, clasped her hands together and looked hopefully at Emberlin.

She heard a gasp of horror from Alistair. "No!" He grabbed Emberlin's arm. "He's a criminal and a traitor! Cailan and Duncan died because of him, not to mention the soldiers and Wardens who followed them! Ember, we can't allow him to join us. He can't be trusted." His eyes pleaded with her, and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Please... don't make me fight beside him. I won't do it!"

Privately, she agreed with Alistair. The thought of going to battle with Loghain at her side was rather unsettling. How did she know he wouldn't kill the remaining Grey Wardens in the chaos of the battlefield? She looked towards Zevran, wishing she could ask his advice, but his face showed only concern. This was not a decision he could help her make. With a sigh, she turned back to Riordan.

"I cannot conscript someone I can't trust to protect his fellow Wardens. He has tried to destroy us, Riordan, and that is the least of his crimes against Ferelden. He must accept the punishment for traitors, as dictated by law." Riordan hesitated as if he would say more but then nodded in acceptance. Emberlin heard Alistair breathe a sigh of relief. Anora buried her face in her hands while the Reverend Mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Loghain raised his head and his steely gaze met hers. "So be it. As much as it pains me to say it, you have proven yourself worthy, Warden. I can only hope it is enough to defeat the Blight and save our country." He turned his head to Anora. "I have only ever wished the best for Ferelden and for you, my daughter. If the crown falls to you, may you rule well and justly." Anora began to sob brokenly, and he turned his face back to Emberlin. "Now, make an end of this, Warden."

Emberlin bowed her head briefly. Once, he had been a hero, after all. She nodded at Alistair, and he drew his sword. Anora buried her face in the Reverend Mother's shoulder, and Emberlin wished that she could look away also. This judgment was hers however, and she would not flinch from it. Nevertheless, as Loghain's blood splattered her robes, she was profoundly grateful to feel Zevran's steady hand on her back. She clenched her fists as the guards took away the body, struggling to keep her emotions hidden. Killing never became easier, she realized. Whatever Loghain had become, he had once been a great man.

Eamon stepped forward once again. "The Regent is dead, but the throne still stands empty. Warden, what would be your suggestion for Ferelden's next ruler?" His eyes were piercing, and she could easily read his thoughts. He still wanted Alistair to become king, but they had already discussed this numerous times. Alistair wished to stay with the Grey Wardens, and she would honor his decision.

"Anora has ruled Ferelden quite well on her own, both before and after Cailan's death," she answered. "I see no reason to change this. Let Anora continue as Queen." Her voice was firm, and she narrowed her eyes at Eamon, daring him to challenge her choice. He frowned but with a short nod, beckoned to Anora to approach the group. Hastily brushing her tears aside, Anora strode forward regally, hands clasped demurely. Her gaze flitted to Alistair.

"And what of Alistair, Maric's bastard son?" Emberlin flinched slightly at the crude, if accurate, reference to Alistair. Anora made no attempt to hide her contempt for the warrior who had beheaded her father. "There are those who would say he should take the crown."

Emberlin turned to Alistair and raised her eyebrows at him. "Alistair?" They had discussed this before the Landsmeet, what Alistair must do to assuage Anora's fears.

Alistair bowed his head and went down on one knee before Anora. "Queen Anora of Ferelden, I hereby relinquish any claim to the throne that I might have. I give you my oath that I will do nothing to undermine your rule. If I should fail this oath, you have the right to take appropriate action." He raised his head and met Anora's gaze squarely with his own. "I pledge my service to both the Grey Wardens and my queen." Emberlin felt an irrational urge to giggle, since she happened to know just how much Alistair despised Anora after their imprisonment. Luckily, he was hiding it well.

Anora gave Alistair a short nod. "I accept your oath, Warden Alistair." As Alistair stood, she turned to address the nobles. "The Grey Wardens have proven most effective in uniting the people of Ferelden against the Blight. I have been told that the archdemon approaches with its army of darkspawn. We can delay no longer. It is time for war!" As the hall rung out with the nobles' cheers, she faced Emberlin. "The Grey Wardens will lead us. Warden Emberlin, I give you command of the Ferelden armies."

As the Reverend Mother closed the assembly with a prayer, Emberlin felt too numb to even listen. The events of the past few days were finally starting to pile up in an overwhelming way. Emotional fallout with her lover, ending in a happy declaration of love? Check. Landsmeet vote in her favor? Check. Scary duel involving the life of her lover? Check. Traitorous tyrant beheaded? Check. Placing a woman she secretly despised on the throne? Check. Being put in command of the entire Ferelden army? Check. Wasn't there a limit to how much excitement a body could take?

As soon as the crowd began to disperse, she grabbed Zevran and attempted to escape, but was stopped by a rather morose-looking Riordan. _Oh Maker, he's not going to chastise me for not recruiting Loghain, is he_?

"Emberlin, I need to meet with you and Alistair later this evening in my room, please. There are some things involving the upcoming battle we need to discuss." He looked as weary as she felt.

"Er... okay. You only want me and Alistair?" She usually included the entire group in battle decisions.

"Yes, please. It's information for Wardens only." He glanced at Zevran apologetically. Zevran raised his eyebrows but said nothing. After Riordan walked away, Zevran cupped her face gently between his palms.

"_Mi amor_, are you quite all right?" She could see the worry in his golden eyes. _I must look as bad as I feel_, she thought, ruefully.

"Zev, you should have allowed me to duel Loghain..." Before she could finish, he pressed a finger to her lips.

"Absolutely not. I don't doubt your abilities, my dear Warden, but I don't want you injuring yourself before we go to war. Loghain wasn't worth your trouble, and the army needs its commander, no?" She parted her lips and drew Zevran's finger into her mouth, sucking on it just a little. His breathing hitched slightly, and she grinned. With a low growl, he backed her against a nearby wall, pressing his body against hers. Several nobles glanced at them curiously as they left the hall. Zevran ignored them, his attention focused solely on Emberlin, a growing need burning in the depths of his amber eyes. She felt her body responding, her need so intimately attuned to his desire. He leaned forward, his hot breath tickling her ear.

"I would like nothing better than to take you right now and _claim_ you for my own in front of all these people, _mi amor_. Let them see that you are _mine_, and I will not allow anyone to challenge you again." His voice was low and rough, his accent even more pronounced than usual. She swallowed hard and touched his cheek with trembling fingers.

"And I would like nothing more than to submit to your wishes, Zev." His eyes darkened at the reminder of their previous sexual encounters, when she had so willingly submitted to his every command. "But you know as well as I do, that this is not the time or place." She willed her heart and breath to slow, to cool the heat in her blood that he so easily awoke. As much as she wanted to lose herself in that heat, she needed to meet with Riordan first.

"Very well, _mi querida_," he murmured softly, brushing his lips lightly against her mouth before pulling away. She shivered at the loss of his body's sensual heat. "But later, you _will _be mine, and just for a little while, we shall put these worries behind us, hmm?" He raised her hand and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, then walked away, smiling. She watched him leave the hall, his scent of herbs and spice lingering in the air. Her mind was still so fogged with desire, she jumped when Alistair came up and placed a hand on her arm.

"Ember? You okay? You look kind of flushed." _Whoops_.

"I'm fine, Alistair. Did Riordan tell you that he wishes to meet with us?"

"Yeah. Sounds like some sort of Warden business. Ember... I'm sorry you had to watch me... with Loghain, I mean." Startled, she glanced up at his concerned face. "I know it wasn't pretty, but at least now we have closure. I feel like I can finally lay Duncan and Cailan to rest... in my mind, I mean. I know it had to be hard for you to watch it though." A wave of love for her fellow Warden washed over Emberlin. They had been through so much, and finally the fruit of their efforts was within reach. If the archdemon didn't squash it to pulp, anyway.

"It's okay, Alistair. How about we get something to eat before meeting Riordan?" She took him by the arm and led him from the hall. "Let's hope he's not going to drop anymore weird _Warden secrets _on us. Having such a huge appetite is bad enough!"

#####

_Thank you to everyone who has been following my story! Your reviews have been so encouraging, and I treasure each and every one. Many hugs to zevgirl, who has kept my grammar from spiraling out of control. There are still a few chapters left to go, so enjoy and thanks for reading!_


	9. Chapter 9: Heart's Fulfillment

_**A/N: **__In this chapter, I have taken liberties with the final battle of Origins. Rather than arriving at an already overtaken Denerim, the Warden and her companions are already present in the city when the horde attacks. Sometimes I like to be a little AU!_

Emberlin stood outside her room in Eamon's estate with her head bowed. Whatever courage she had found in her victory at the Landsmeet had been demolished during the meeting with Riordan and Alistair. How strange, she thought, that during the past two years she had always known that death hovered nearby and could choose to take her at any moment. She had ceased to worry about if she would die; her goals had kept her too busy to think about it. But now that death loomed over her in the form of the Archdemon, she felt fear; not for herself, but for those she would leave behind. She wished that she could trust Riordan to succeed in killing the Archdemon, but she felt a dreadful certainty that he would fail. She had seen the same conclusion in Alistair's eyes as they left Riordan's room, and she knew he was already planning to take Riordan's place when he fell. She could not allow that to happen.

Distracted by her thoughts, she almost jumped when she opened the heavy wooden door to find Morrigan sitting on her bed. She badly needed to be alone right now, and Morrigan had never been someone that she felt she could confide in. Weary and heartsick, her voice sounded harsher than she intended as she confronted the witch.

"What is it, Morrigan? It's late, and we need to rest for the battle tomorrow."

The witch turned her pale, fathomless eyes to Emberlin. Ember was surprised to notice that the other woman seemed tense. "I wish to speak with you, Emberlin. I know what Riordan has told you, but he is incorrect."

Emberlin stared at Morrigan, first in confusion, then with a small flare of hope. "How do you know what was said? Were you spying on us? And what do you mean when you say he is incorrect?"

The witch stared into the flickering fire of the hearth. "Does it truly matter how I know? I did not spy; this Warden secret was already known to me." She stood abruptly and moved to stand directly in front of Emberlin. "No Warden need die tomorrow, Ember. There is another way."

Emberlin stood frozen, her eyes locked with Morrigan's. Another way... was it possible? "Tell me."

"There is a certain... ritual... which will end the Blight without destroying the old god. When the Warden kills the Archdemon, the soul enters the Warden and is destroyed by the Warden's power, killing the Warden also. If the essence of the old god is transferred into a different vessel, the Warden will not die when the Archdemon is slain. The ritual accomplishes this by creating a safe vessel."

Emberlin was silent, struggling to absorb this information. "What exactly is the vessel of which we speak?"

"A child, an unborn baby." At Ember's look of horror, Morrigan held up a hand. "A child still in the womb is empty and formless. It can easily accept and contain the soul of an old god if the ritual is performed close to conception."

"Morrigan, you speak of filling a child with evil! How could you even suggest..."

"The Archdemon is evil because the darkspawn have corrupted it. In the body of a child, there is no corruption, no influence of any kind. It can choose its own path."

Emberlin pushed past Morrigan, turning her back to the witch as she stared into the fire. "And how exactly would you go about this ritual?" she asked dully.

"I must conceive a child... tonight. The father must be a Warden, or else the child will not have the power to receive the old god's soul."

Ember rounded on Morrigan in fury. "You would ask Riordan or Alistair to do this... thing?"

"It would have to be Alistair. The ritual requires the seed of a young Warden. Riordan is too old." Morrigan stood quietly in the face of Emberlin's rage. "Emberlin, no one will have to die. You and Alistair will survive this, and the Blight will still end."

"At what cost, Morrigan? How can we know what kind of child this will be? What it will do once it is grown? What worth is this ritual if we must face another Blight when the child comes of age? What you are suggesting is too much risk!"

Morrigan moved swiftly forward and clenched Emberlin's arm hard. "What I am suggesting would save your life and that of the bastard!" Her eyes blazed with fury. "Is that not important enough?" Her voice lowered to a hiss. "Should I ask _Zevran_ how he feels about it?"

A strangled cry ripped from Emberlin, and she shoved Morrigan backward hard enough to cause the witch to stumble. "You will leave Zevran out of this! I cannot... _will_ not... allow the Blight to continue, even for my sake or Zevran's." She closed her eyes in despair as the truth finally sank into her heart. Even for love, she could not turn aside from her mission. Hiding her face in her hands, she turned away from Morrigan. "Go. Do not speak of this to me again."

There was a moment of silence before Morrigan spoke to her for the last time. "Very well. Go to your death... or Alistair's. Let your lover and your friends weep for your end; I will have no part in it. I leave tonight. Do not seek me again." The door opened and closed behind her, and Morrigan was gone. Ember dropped her hands and stared vacantly into the fire, clenching her fists. For better or worse, she had sealed her fate; there was no turning back. Even if they succeeded in killing the Archdemon, someone would die tomorrow.

* * *

Some time later, Zevran entered the room to find Emberlin slumped on the bed, staring blindly at the floor. He paused briefly, taking in her defeated posture with concern. Kneeling at her feet, he reached up to grasp her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"_Mi amor_, what has happened?" He kept his voice calm, but his heart was racing at the despairing expression on her face. When he had last seen her after the Landsmeet she had appeared tired, but also relieved and buoyant. What had changed?

Her emerald eyes glistened suspiciously. Without a word, she leaned forward and laid her head on his shoulder. He pulled her off the bed and into his lap, wrapping his arms around her protectively. They sat in silence for a time while Zevran stroked her hair. Finally, Emberlin took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Alistair and I met with Riordan, and he told us about some things that we didn't know before." She pulled back from his shoulder so that her gaze could meet his. He deserved to know; she could not let him find out when it was too late. "A Warden has to be the one to kill the Archdemon, Zev. The soul of the old god will enter whoever kills it, and only a Warden has the power to accept the soul and destroy it."

Zevran's eyes searched her face worriedly. "This does not seem so bad a thing, _mi querida_. But there is more you must tell me, yes?"

She bit her lip and looked down as she took his long, slender hands in hers. Absently, she ran her thumbs along his calloused palms. "Yes." She raised her head to face him once more. "The Warden who kills the Archdemon will die. We can destroy the old god, but it will kill us as well."

She felt him stiffen, and something sharpened in his eyes. "Then we will find another way."

"No, Zev." She shook her head sadly. "There is no other way."

Zevran stared down at their clasped hands. "Then perhaps Riordan…?"

She sighed. "He has offered to be the one already, but he may fail. He is old, after all." She looked up at him resolutely. "Zev, I need you to stay with Alistair. You must prevent him from killing the Archdemon if he should try."

A flash of anger crossed his face. "You would save him, but not yourself?"

"He must survive, Zevran. He _must_. The Wardens will need a leader, and he is the best man for the job."

"You have led us this far on your own, _mi querida_. You are our Commander, not Alistair."

"For now, I am. But Zev, once things settle down, Ferelden will never accept an elven mage as Warden Commander. Alistair is quite capable, and he is the better choice." He opened his mouth to protest, and she quickly placed her hand over his lips lovingly. "Zev, please. I have never asked you for anything as important as this. Even if I must leave you tomorrow, protect Alistair."

Zevran raised his head, and she saw instantly that his emotionless mask was in place. "We will worry about that if we come to it, _mi amor_." He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. For a moment the mask cracked, and she saw a glimpse of fear in the amber depths of his gaze. He recovered quickly however, and rose to his feet, pulling her with him.

"Tomorrow we go to battle, but tonight is ours, my Ember. And I will not allow it to pass without you in my arms." He pulled her close and lowered his lips to claim her mouth. She yielded to him in desperation, unable to push aside the fear that this night could be their last. Her body molded itself against his, while her hands fisted in the silkiness of his hair. With a soft groan against her lips, he placed a hand on her lower back and thrust his hips against her, letting her feel his desire against her thigh.

Suddenly, it became imperative to rid both of them of their hindering clothes. Her hands went to the laces of her robes, but he grabbed her wrists firmly, pulling them away.

"No, my Warden. Please… allow me to undress you." He lowered his mouth to her shoulder and closed his teeth hard over the cloth. She shuddered in pleasure as his lips trailed up to her neck while his hands began to untie the laces. Over their months together, he had become quite adept at removing her robes swiftly and efficiently. Within a few moments, the robes fell to the floor, leaving her shivering in her smallclothes. Zevran stood back so that his eyes could linger over her curves, and she could see the admiration and arousal in his eyes.

"So lovely. In Antiva, the eyes of many would follow your every step, and men would kneel before you to ask for a kiss." She flushed, and he smiled as he reached out to touch the earring she wore. "Yet, you chose me, and I am humbled by your trust." The smile disappeared to be replaced by an expression of possessive longing.

"No man has my permission to kneel before me, save the one standing before me," she replied in earnest.

He smiled widely and immediately knelt before her. Placing his hands on the back of her calves, he slowly caressed her skin up to her thighs. She reached down and untied the braids in his hair, her fingers gently scraping against his scalp. Hooking his fingers over her undergarments, he pulled them down, tossing them aside. Leaning forward, he nuzzled the curls between her legs, breathing in her scent.

"So sweet, the smell of your desire," he murmured softly. "I can never get enough of tasting you." She gasped as he slid a hot tongue between her folds while his hands cupped her buttocks. She allowed her head to fall back, dark tresses cascading down the creamy skin of her back. Small moans of delight escaped her parted lips as he stroked her inner folds with his tongue. Delicious warmth spread outward, causing her limbs to tremble with desire. Feeling her shakiness, he stood and swiftly gathered her in his arms. Before she could fully recover, he lowered her gently to the bed and once again, his tongue darted between her legs.

She groaned and writhed beneath the exquisite torture, trying to buck her hips against his mouth, but he held her hips firmly, pinning her to the bed. Two fingers slid within her slippery channel and stroked a sensitive spot deep within. Her arms flailed, straining hands grasping at the bed sheets as tension built swiftly inside her core. She wanted him_ inside_, she wanted him to _keep going_, she wanted _everything_ he could give her, all at once.

Just before she reached the edge where she would shatter, he withdrew, leaving her panting and _needing_. She pleaded wordlessly with groping hands as he swiftly undressed and climbed on the bed beside her, warm skin pressing against her back.

"Shh, _mi flor_. " He drew her close to his chest and lifted one of her legs over his hip. His deft fingers slipped once more into her curls, and she arched against him at the touch. He remained propped on one elbow, watching her face as he tantalized her wetness. His erection slid enticingly into the cleft between her buttocks, and she pressed back against him, causing his breath to hitch. His slick fingers withdrew and bent her leg further up, allowing him access to her moistened opening. With a sudden thrust of his hips, his length slid easily inside, and they both shuddered as he filled her.

"Ah, it is always so good to be inside of you." He curled his body against her back, his head resting on one arm while the other wrapped tightly around her waist. His hips began a slow rocking rhythm; slick, hard flesh stroking against the wet, tight muscles inside. She leaned her head back against his chest, eyes closed and lips parted in ecstasy. His free hand lazily explored her breasts and her stomach, occasionally dipping between her folds to tease her closer to the precipice. He bent his head to explore the nape of her neck with his tongue, and she gasped at the onslaught of sensation he was creating everywhere along her body.

She felt the moment that urgency began to overtake him. His thrusts became more purposeful, jerking rather than flowing, and his head fell away as his eyes closed and he lost himself in the pleasure of their joining. His honeyed voice moaned broken phrases in Antivan, the exotic accent more pronounced as passion overcame his control. His fingers drifted into her folds, and he stroked her in time with his thrusts, until they were both moving together in delicious harmony.

"You are mine, _mi amor_," he murmured. "Nothing will part us, _nothing_." Her hand reached back behind her head to grip his.

"_Te amo_, Zevran," she whispered in his language as time stopped, and the world unraveled around her in shuddering waves of ecstasy.

He groaned and thrust deeply, burying his essence inside her as all control collapsed, and he fell along with her. Their bodies convulsed together for several moments before they finally slumped into the mattress in exhaustion. Her mind drifted as he pulled her closer, looping his arm around her slim waist.

"Sleep, _querida_. Tomorrow will be a busy day, no? Do not allow yourself to worry of what may be. Let us enjoy this moment together, hmm?" He stroked her hair soothingly as her breaths deepened and slowed_. Let her rest while she can; she has borne enough of our burdens_, he thought.

Only after he was certain she was asleep did he allow his arm to tighten around her while he buried his face in her hair_. I have my own plans for tomorrow, _mi querida_. I will not allow this gift I have found to be taken from me. No matter the cost, you will live_. He lay awake listening to her heart beat until dawn's first light streaked the sky in a rosy glow.

* * *

In spite of the sun's effort to light the day, black clouds soon swept across the sky like smoke, spreading an ominous gloom across the land surrounding Denerim. Soldiers manned the walls surrounding the city, nervously clutching whatever weapon they had managed to scrounge from the armory. Civilians fled north from the city, away from the approaching clouds of dust, which heralded the arrival of the darkspawn horde sweeping across the fields toward the city. The time to defend Ferelden had come at last.

Waves of darkspawn broke against the walls of Denerim like the surf of the ocean. As many as were killed, more flooded in to take the place of the dead. Despite the best efforts of Emberlin's combined armies, the enemy broke through by midday, swarming inside the gates with shrill screams of victory. Above them all, flew the Archdemon, spraying the streets with fire. The Commander and her companions yelled back their defiance and attacked the horde with the same synchronization they had developed over the past two years of fighting together. Elves from the Dalish, dwarves from Orzammar, men from Redcliffe, and magi from the Circle all came together to push back the hurlocks and genlocks streaming through the walls.

Although they managed to defeat the darkspawn in isolated areas, the horde quickly overran the city, and Riordan suggested that they split. He asked Emberlin to choose a few companions to accompany her through Denerim, while he tried to lure the Archdemon to Fort Drakon. The others would remain behind to lead the armies against the rest of the darkspawn at the gates. It was the moment Emberlin had been dreading. As her friends gathered around her, she steeled herself for what she must do.

"Alistair, you will stay here and lead our armies against the darkspawn. I will take Oghren, Leliana, and Wynne to meet Riordan at Fort Drakon."

"No!" shouted Alistair, and Zevran stepped forward angrily. "Absolutely not, _mi querida_."

Emberlin held her hand up warningly. "Both of you, please. Do not force me to pull rank here. You all agreed that I would command here, and this is my decision." The fury in Alistair's eyes and the desperation in Zevran's almost caused her to come undone. Her heart was crumbling, but she would not fail her duty.

Sten and Shale both gave her a silent nod of understanding and stepped back. Alistair clenched his fists in agony.

"Ember, please. Don't do this…" His eyes pleaded with hers, and she knew he would kill the Archdemon to spare her, given the chance. She simply couldn't allow it.

"No, Alistair. The armies need you; the Wardens need you. This is my last request. Please honor it." He stood staring at her for several long seconds, and then finally gave her a nod of acquiescence. Unable to speak, he clasped her shoulder in a grip of friendship, and then finally turned away.

At last, she turned to face Zevran, her assassin, her love. No dragon could cause her heart to quail as it did in that moment. His face was set in its usual protective, emotionless mask, but his eyes bared his soul. Her throat closed shut with unshed tears, and she moved to stand in front of him. Without a word, she cupped his face in her hands and drew him down for one last kiss.

If death awaited her this day, at least she would die knowing the love Zevran had given her. Her destiny was complete as long as he filled her heart. Such a long way they had come, from his attempt to kill her to the mutual trust that bonded them together. No matter what happened today or what tales they might tell of her in history, there could be no greater accomplishment than this: his love.

Her lips trembled against his mouth, and his hands held her head gently as he returned the kiss as fervently as he could. When they finally separated, she could see the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes, and with one last caress of her cheek he turned away abruptly, refusing to allow her to see any sign of weakness in their last moment together. She took a moment to still her quivering limbs, and then with a gesture towards Oghren, Leliana, and Wynne, she moved resolutely toward the inner city of Denerim. She was relieved to find that she had enough strength to not look back.

They moved swiftly through the marketplace and the alienage, driving the enemy before them. Oghren's hefty axe cleaved repeatedly through darkspawn necks while Leliana loosed her deadly poisoned arrows. Emberlin conjured storms of fire and lightning, leaving burnt and twisted bodies in their wake. Through it all, Wynne's soothing heals spurred them onward.

At the palace, they were joined by ranks of elves covering the skies with their hail of arrows. Emberlin yelled for them to take out the emissaries first, preventing the darkspawn from having their injuries healed. As they drew closer to Fort Drakon, a high-pitched scream from above caused the party to look up.

The Archdemon streaked through the sky with Riordan clinging to its back. Screeching its fury, the dragon veered straight up into the darkened sky, attempting to dislodge the Warden. Emberlin's breath caught in her throat as Riordan began to helplessly slide down the dragon's back. In a last attempt to stop his fall, he flung out a dagger, piercing the beast's wing and putting the dragon in a downward spiral toward the roof of Fort Drakon. With a last strangled cry, Riordan slipped from the Archdemon and fell out of sight behind the tower.

Emberlin bowed her head, blinking back tears. One Warden down, only two left. Setting her jaw firmly, she raised her head and rolled her shoulders. All her life had funneled down to this one point in time, her last deed. For the sake of Ferelden, she must _not_ fail. Raising her staff, she shouted a cry of defiance and led her companions into Fort Drakon.

Emerging onto the roof of the fort, she finally got her first close look at Urthemiel. She was relieved to find that some of the mages and dwarves had made it to the roof and were already engaging the ancient dragon. As Oghren joined the fray, she scanned the roof for anything that would be useful. Spotting several ballistae, she yelled to Leliana and together they rushed to make use of the powerful weapons.

Time seemed to pass in a strange, slow blur. While she cast spells and aimed the ballista, flashes of memory flickered through her mind. As if she were reliving her past, she could once again smell the herbs in Zevran's newly washed hair, feel the softness of his lips against the back of her neck, see the amusement in his eyes as they laughed together. Even now as she fought on this battered rooftop, she could almost feel his strong arms around her waist, holding up her exhausted body.

The Archdemon's movements were becoming more erratic, and her heart rose at the obvious signs that the dragon was beginning to die at last. Jumping down from the rampart where she had been manning a ballista, she raised her staff to cast a freezing spell when suddenly, a dark form with flying blond hair leaped from seemingly nowhere onto the dragon's back. Swinging dual silver blades, he drove them into the back of the dragon's head, drawing screams of pain and fury from the wounded beast. Horror filled her heart, and she faltered in fear_. Zevran. What was he doing here_?

The Archdemon shook its head viciously, flinging Zevran to the roof in a tangled heap of limbs. Emberlin quickly cast a glyph of repulsion around his body and threw a bolt of energy into the dragon's eye to gain its attention. Blood streamed from multiple wounds across Urthemiel's body, but Zevran's slashes into its brain had thrown it into jerking convulsions. As she ran toward the dying dragon, she saw Zevran struggle to his feet, flinging out one hand toward her in a plea for her to halt.

There was no other choice; she had to prevent him from trying to stop her. Swinging her staff in an arc, she murmured the words of a paralyze spell and cast it at the assassin. Immediately, he froze in place, his eyes wild in desperation as he realized that he could not help her_. I'm sorry, my love_. Tears streaming down her face, she spotted a longsword lying on the ground nearby and leaned down to grab it. Tossing her staff aside, she began to run towards the Archdemon, swinging the sword above her head.

Time seemed to suddenly speed up as she leaped on the dragon's back and scampered up its neck. Before she even felt entirely ready, she was raising the sword and with the last of her strength, drove it into the dragon's head, right between the gaping holes left by Zevran's daggers. As a blinding, shimmering white light surrounded her, she heard a familiar voice scream.

"_Ember, no_!"

_Yes, my love. It must be so_.

And then there was nothing except pain, more pain than she had ever experienced in her life. Urthemiel screamed in her mind as its twisted soul met the shining light of hers. Her skin felt like it was curling from her bones, and her muscles seemed to melt in the heat of an inferno. Life warred against life and with a surge of victory, she felt the scream in her mind die, fading like rain turning to mist. Her last thought as the light died around her was of a tanned, tattooed face framed by flaxen braids; and she smiled as she fell into the endless dark of night.


	10. Chapter 10:  From Ember to Flame

Consciousness came to him slowly, accompanied by the tang of blood in his gritty mouth. He tried to swallow but his throat was simply too dry and it refused to cooperate. Pain lanced through his side with every breath he took as if he were being stabbed with a vicious knife over and over. His right shoulder felt completely wrong, probably dislocated. Ignoring the terrible pain, he pushed himself into a squatting position and opened his eyes.

Smoke and dust swirled everywhere across the roof of Fort Drakon. It was eerily silent, although he could hear the sounds of battle far below in the streets of Denerim. He quickly scanned the sprawled corpse of the Archdemon, a greatsword still protruding from its head. Nearby lay the crumpled body he sought, its lifeless form diminutive compared to the monstrosity next to it.

_No_.

His mind struggled to comprehend what his eyes were seeing, and he didn't notice the tears that spilled down his grimy cheeks.

_No_.

All the things he had done, all the plans he had wrought, and still he had failed?

_No_.

What was left of his strength waned and his trembling arms gave out. He closed his eyes and let his body sink against the cold, rough stone.

_If you cannot stay here with me, then I will go with you, _mi amor.

He let his body go slack and embraced the pain. The end would be much quicker if he didn't fight it. He released his mind and drifted toward the blackness that waited.

"Zevran!" A frantic hand was shaking him, causing him to convulse with the additional pain it caused.

"Zevran, please! Wake up!"

_Leliana_. Unwillingly, his mind put a name to the sweet voice, now strained with anxiety. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and turned his head to regard her with bitterness. _Can I not be allowed to follow my Ember in peace_?

Her lovely face was smudged with dirt and ash, and her eyes were wild with fear.

"Zevran, we need your help! Oghren is too injured to carry her!"

The words seemed to come from far away, echoing down a long corridor to smash against the despair of his mind. He forced his dry throat to work.

"Carry who?" His usually smooth voice was rough and gravelly.

"Emberlin! Zev, she's still alive!"

Despair shattered and hope climbed desperately from the depths of his being. _Alive_. Then there was still a chance, a single star still shining in his night sky.

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, he struggled to his feet. A wave of agony shuddered through his body, and he felt Leliana's steady hand on his back.

"Maker, Zev, you may be as badly injured as Oghren…"

"No matter," he rasped. "Take me to her."

Zevran leaned on Leliana as they approached the still body next to the dragon. Wynne was hunched over Emberlin, a blue glow emanating from her hands as she moved them slowly over Ember's shattered form. Oghren stood next to her, his hand pressed tight over a crimson stain spreading over his abdomen. His face was wracked with pain, but he managed a weak grin as he saw Zevran limping toward them. Wynne glanced up briefly and then returned her attention to Emberlin.

"She's in bad shape, Zevran, but she's still alive. We need to get her out of here and somewhere safe, somewhere I can work on her without distraction. Can you carry her?"

"Of course." He was well aware that his injuries were severe in their own right, but he shoved his pain aside with practiced ease. This was where his brutal training as a Crow would be of some use. One thing he knew well was how to ignore pain and keep going.

He couldn't repress a gasp of pain, however, as he bent over to cradle Emberlin in his arms. Her weight pulled at his dislocated shoulder and he grunted, almost staggering. Immediately, Leliana was at his side, helping him to lift her. The pain receded slightly once he had straightened, and he held her closely to his chest although each breath tore through him like a serrated blade. He carefully shifted her so that his good arm supported most of her weight. Wynne hovered at his side checking his wounds.

"Zevran, I had no idea that you were so badly injured. Maybe we should stop for a minute and…"

"_No_. I am fine, I assure you. Please, let's get Ember to safety."

Leliana lead the way back down the tower and out into the streets of Denerim. Everywhere they looked, the city was in flames and the dead littered the ground. A group of Dalish elves was finishing off what was left of the darkspawn at the entrance of Fort Drakon. When they saw the companions emerge, they let out a cheer of victory, brandishing their elegant bows above their heads. Leliana responded with forced cheer, waving at them in thanks. As the elves drew near, they noticed the limp body in Zevran's arms and a hush fell. One of the elves, who appeared to be the leader, approached somberly.

"The Warden? She is dead?"

"No," replied Wynne. "But she is gravely injured. We must get her somewhere safe quickly."

"Then we shall get you there." He bowed. "Come."

The elves surrounded the companions protectively, and they began to move swiftly down the streets. Few darkspawn appeared, but those who were spotted were quickly dispatched with the Dalish's deadly arrows. When they reached the Palace, they came across a group of soldiers from Redcliffe. The soldiers greeted them with high spirits.

"Did you see the Archdemon fall atop the Fort? We have won!" The cheerful lieutenant raised his sword in salute. Oghren grunted as he pushed forward through the elves.

"The Warden killed it, but she is near death! Is there anywhere we can take her?"

The lieutenant's face turned grim as he noticed Zevran's burden. "Arl Eamon's estate is untouched, the last I heard. Come, and we'll take you there."

Zevran remembered little of the rest of the journey through the streets of Denerim. The pain threatened to engulf him, but he kept it at bay by focusing on the broken body in his arms.

_Just a little longer, _mi querida_. Be strong for me_.

He barely even noticed when they finally arrived at the Arl's estate, as his attention was solely occupied with keeping his legs moving. The companions were quickly ushered to a small bedroom by the Arl's servants, and Zevran gently lowered Emberlin to the bed with relief. Leliana watched him with concern as he staggered to a nearby chair and collapsed. His face had turned pale beneath his tan and he was gasping in short ragged breaths, but his eyes were still clear and focused intently on Emberlin.

"Leliana, fetch me as much lyrium as you can find. I'll be utilizing much of my mana to heal," instructed Wynne tersely.

Leliana disappeared without a word and returned shortly with a box of lyrium vials. Wynne nodded her thanks.

"I know you both are concerned about her, but it would be best for you both to leave. I cannot afford any distractions."

"I will not distract you," replied Zevran. "I'm not leaving." His tone brooked no argument, and the fire in his amber eyes gave Wynne pause.

"Zevran, you are badly wounded also," protested Leliana. "Let me take you to another healer."

"My dear Leliana, I am used to enduring for an extended time in an injured state. Emberlin is in more grave danger than I am. Please, Wynne, continue your work."

Leliana left reluctantly and Wynne turned back to Emberlin. Her hands moved slowly over the mage's body, and a blue glow enveloped Emberlin. She looked so pale and fragile that Zevran feared that he might yet lose her to the Maker. He watched anxiously while Wynne murmured soft chants with her eyes closed in concentration.

Time passed with agonized slowness. Zevran's breathing grew more ragged as the pain in his side increased, but he remained quiet while Wynne continued to heal the Warden. Just as grayness began to steal over his dwindling consciousness, Wynne stood wearily, gripping the bed for support.

"I have done what I can. Now we can only wait and pray that the Maker will be merciful."

Grasping at what strength he still had, Zevran managed to move to the bed and sit beside Emberlin. Her face was bloodless and her hair lay tangled in a dark cloud on the pillow. He reached out with a trembling hand to brush back a stray tendril and laid his head on her chest.

"Thank you, Wynne. Whatever… disagreements we may have had… you have my heartfelt gratitude."

The elderly mage's voice was unusually soft. "Do you think I do not know that you love her? I may be late in realizing your somewhat dubious virtues, but I do not doubt that you would do anything to protect her."

Zevran opened his mouth to reply, but the blackness he had been holding at bay crept over his vision, and he succumbed to the mercy of unconsciousness at last.

* * *

The blackness surrounded him like the ocean and he floated for a time, blissfully aware of nothing. Occasionally, voices drifted through the water and lapped at his mind, but as soon as he tried to focus on them, they swam away with the current. There was no pain here, no sensation at all. This bothered him because he knew there was something he wanted to feel, wanted to feel very badly, in fact. After a while, this need became an urgency he couldn't ignore. He turned his head and saw brightness beyond the ripples of the surface, and gathering his strength, he swam up towards the beckoning light.

Opening his eyes, the first thing he became aware of were the tight bandages around his chest. It was still painful to breathe, but not nearly as much as before. His injured shoulder was also swathed in dressings, but the bones no longer felt displaced. Every part of his body ached, but it wasn't anything he couldn't tolerate.

The room was dark, dimly lit only by the flickering fire in the hearth. He was lying on a bed, clothed only in loose trousers. Turning his head, he found himself face to face with a mass of luxurious dark, wavy hair. _Emberlin_. He pushed himself up onto his good arm and gazed down at her anxiously. Her face held more color and she was breathing easily.

"She's going to be fine."

Zevran looked over to the fireplace where Alistair sat quietly in a chair.

"Wynne was successful then?" His voice was hoarse and he struggled to swallow. Alistair stood and brought him a cup.

"Here, drink this. It's a tea Wynne made to help you feel better."

Zevran sipped the bitter liquid cautiously. He tasted nothing alarming and drained the cup, grateful for the wetness against his parched throat. Alistair settled back in the chair.

"Yes, Wynne exhausted herself, but she healed both of you. She decided to leave you here with Emberlin because she knew you wouldn't stay put in any other bed." Alistair chuckled softly.

"She's right." Zevran smiled and then grimaced as a pain shot through his side. He lay back down and pressed a hand against his chest.

"You've got some broken ribs, but they will mend. Oghren was in worse shape; he took a blade to his stomach. The magi healed him though, and he'll live to drink himself to death." Alistair gazed at him thoughtfully. "It seems that Morrigan was right, doesn't it?"

Zevran nodded. "Yes, the witch was obviously telling the truth, and for that I am grateful." He met Alistair's gaze. "Was it terrible?"

Alistair flushed and stared into the fire. "Well, it wasn't what I imagined my first time would be like, but it really wasn't so bad. Morrigan was… nice about it. I wasn't expecting that."

"I know that what I asked was difficult for you, Alistair. Please know that I am truly appreciative."

The warrior shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I knew she wouldn't let me go with her to kill the Archdemon, and I was right." He sighed. "She always sacrifices herself before everyone else. Morrigan's ritual seemed the best way to save her."

"I assume the witch is gone, yes?"

"No one has seen her since last night. She got what she wanted, and we got what we wanted, I guess."

Zevran closed his eyes and felt sleep creeping back. Wynne had probably slipped a sedative into the tea. "Go rest, Alistair. I am here to keep watch over Emberlin."

Alistair stood and opened the door. "If you need anything, just yell. There are servants hovering all over the place. Anora sent them." He shook his head wryly, his distaste for the Queen still evident.

Zevran rolled to his side and placed a protective arm around Emberlin's waist. He rested his head against the soft skin of her shoulder and let her rhythmic breathing lull him back to sleep.

_How strange_, she thought_. I didn't expect life after death to look so… ordinary_. Yet when she opened her eyes, she found herself lying in a bed in a simple room adorned with only a chair and a fireplace. Her body felt like an ogre had repeatedly thrown her against the wall. _So if you die a painful death, it follows you to the other side of the Fade_? Then she became aware of an arm draped lightly over her hip and slowly turned over to see very familiar amber eyes looking back at her.

Her eyes filled with tears and she hesitantly reached out to touch his cheek.

"If this is truly death, then I wish to stay here forever."

Zevran placed his hand over hers. "You are not dead, _mi amor_. I assure you that you are very much alive."

Confusion swept over her face, followed by horror. "Then… I failed? The Archdemon lives?"

He shook his head and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "No, no. You killed it, Ember. The Blight is over."

"But… _how_?"

He took a deep breath. "I am sorry _querida_, but I could not allow you to needlessly throw away your life, so I took precautions."

She stared at him. "Zevran, what did you _do_?"

He ran his fingers lightly up and down her arm to calm her. "I must confess that I did some eavesdropping when you were meeting with Riordan and Alistair. When you left and went to your room, I followed you and listened to your conversation with Morrigan as well."

Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed. "You spied on me?"

"I was worried for you, my lovely Ember. I am sorry if it upsets you, but I do not regret doing it because you would be dead if I hadn't."

"But I refused Morrigan's offer!"

"Sì, you did. But I pulled her aside after she left you and said that I would talk to Alistair. She waited while I discussed the situation with Alistair, and he agreed to her… hmm… suggestion."

"Oh, Zev! I didn't want to put Alistair through that!"

He caressed her cheek gently. "My dear, I wouldn't have forced him if he had refused. He was afraid for you because he knew that you would try to perform the final blow. He said that one night with Morrigan was a small price to pay if it would guarantee your life."

"I can't believe that you both did this for me." Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. "But if you knew everything would be okay, why did you attempt to kill the dragon for me?"

"I knew from Morrigan that the old god's soul wouldn't kill you since it would not be entering your body. But that did not mean you could not be mortally wounded physically. Since the old god's soul didn't need a Warden to host it, I decided to kill the dragon myself so that you would not be injured." He gave a rueful grimace. "I failed, of course. A certain beautiful mage paralyzed me before I could finish the deed." He reached out and wiped her tears with his fingers. "_Mi amor_, don't cry. It is over at last."

She buried her face in his chest. "I don't know whether to kiss you or kill you for eavesdropping and disobeying me."

He lowered his face to her hair and breathed in its herbal scent. "If you decide to kill me, I would ask that you please kiss me first, _querida_. That way I can die a happy man, no?"

That was when it finally hit her; the Blight was _over_. Furthermore, she was _alive _and so was Zevran. She had expected to die but she had received a reprieve, courtesy of the man who loved her too much to let her go. Overwhelmed, she burst into sobs, clutching Zevran as if he were her anchor in the storm of her relief. He held her close, murmuring softly in Antivan and stroking her hair as all the pent-up emotion of the past two years came pouring out. When the tears finally ceased, she felt completely drained, but in a good way. All the worries and fears were gone, and she felt like an empty vessel waiting to be filled with a new life.

Pulling away slightly, she noticed that her tears had soaked the bandage around his chest. She felt ashamed for not noticing his injuries earlier.

"Zev, you didn't mention that you were hurt! Is everyone okay?"

He placed a finger gently over her lips. "Shh, _querida_. My injuries were small, just a few bruises. It is nothing an assassin such as me cannot handle. Oghren was more seriously hurt but he is recovering nicely, and the others are all fine. It is you that we have been worried about, Ember." He wrapped his arms around her, curling his body against hers. "I am sorry that I disobeyed you, my Warden, but I regret nothing. Your death would have been mine, but now we will both live and love, no? And you must promise me that you will never leave me behind again or I will be most displeased." He smiled into her hair.

With a contented sigh, she returned his warm embrace. "I promise, and I think you have taught me one final lesson. Never try to outsmart a Crow."

A chuckle tickled the top of her head. "You learn well, _querida_. I trust that you will not forget it."

* * *

Four days later, a stronger Emberlin stood before a mirror in Leliana's room, fidgeting while Leliana arranged her hair. The bard was dressed in a lovely lavender gown with sparkling, silver high-heeled shoes. Leliana had amusingly tried on ten pairs of shoes before finally deciding on the pair she now wore.

"I feel silly all made up like this, Leli."

The Orlesian chuckled and placed a few more diamond pins in Emberlin's dark hair. "You are too beautiful to always hide behind your mage robes and cowl, Ember. For this one day you are the hero, and we shall have you looking like a queen."

"I doubt Anora would like that," grinned Emberlin.

Leliana laughed. "All the more reason to do it then."

Emberlin stared at the strange woman in the mirror adorned in a deep forest-green gown trimmed with golden lace. Her dark, wavy hair was held up with glittering pins and Zevran's emerald earring hung proudly from one pointed ear. Was this really the same woman who had traveled Ferelden in worn robes, spending most nights in a threadbare bedroll?

Leliana put an arm around her shoulders. "Come dear, and let's join the others. Zevran is waiting anxiously to see you in this dress. I told him all about it!"

Their companions were waiting in a small room adjoining the main hall of the Palace. All were dressed in splendid clothes that had been provided graciously by Anora for the celebration. Emberlin's eyes went first to Zevran, who was dressed in a fine amber-colored leather tunic and pants with gold fringe. His boots were a rich earthy brown and made of Antivan leather. His eyes widened slightly as Emberlin and Leliana approached, and she blushed at the admiration reflected in his gaze.

"My dear ladies, may I say that you both look simply ravishing?" He gave both of them a theatrical bow which had Wynne rolling her eyes.

"Yes, I completely agree," mumbled Alistair, giving Leliana a long stare, which earned him a dazzling smile.

A guard standing by the door approached them with deference.

"If you all are ready, the Queen, along with the Arls and Banns of Ferelden, await your presence."

Zevran offered his arm to Emberlin. "How about it, _mi amor_? Shall we go to greet our admirers?" His amber eyes shone with mirth.

She met his mischievous smile with her own and took his elbow. "I suppose we must, and I promise to be on my best behavior."

"Speak for yourself," grumbled Oghren. He released a heartfelt belch, which caused the guard to stare at him with undisguised horror. The dwarf gave him a satisfied grin amidst uproarious laughter from the gathered friends. Even Wynne managed a tolerant smile, and on that high note, they entered the crowded hall.

The ceremony itself passed in a colorful blur, which Emberlin was never able to properly remember afterwards. She received a shock when Anora announced that she was to receive the title of Arlessa of Amaranthine. This had not been discussed beforehand, and she wondered if Eamon had prompted Anora to bestow the land to her. Next, Anora acknowledged Alistair as Warden Commander of Ferelden and granted him Vigil's Keep, which Emberlin had requested. Alistair was quick to declare her as his second-in-command, which had also been agreed on before the ceremony. Dazed from her sudden rise in position, she was relieved when the official presentation was over and they were free to mingle with the crowd.

She weaved through the assembly, reminiscing with her friends and speaking to various nobles and other acquaintances she had met during her travels. She kept her distance from the haughty Queen, and Anora avoided her as well. There would be little love between them in the future, so it was just as well that she would be living in Vigil's Keep. As she courteously greeted each noble, her eyes searched for the one person she needed to see the most. She found him at last, addressing questions about his homeland from two overeager female admirers.

As she approached, he stopped speaking, and the women turned to see who had caused his eyes to light up with such pride. When they saw Emberlin, they gave reluctant curtsies and melted away into the crowd. The voices and people around them seemed to fade as their eyes locked with an intensity that drowned out everything else. Zevran made a formal bow, his eyes shining with mischief.

"Ah, I am honored that such a lovely woman has come to speak to me. Might I have the privilege of your name, my Lady?"

She grinned and lowered her head slightly, playing the part of the shy maiden. "My name is Emberlin, good Ser."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. It reminds me of another attractive woman I was hired to kill once, long ago."

"And did you succeed in your endeavor?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Alas, I failed in that mission, my Lady. This woman, she was clever, powerful, and terribly charming. I fell madly in love with her." He reached out to caress her cheek. "As time passed, I watched this woman grow from a mere ember to a mighty flame, and my love grew as well."

"And where is this lovely woman that you speak of with such passion?" she asked, almost mesmerized by the honeyed cadence of his voice.

"She became the hero of an entire nation and won the admiration of many. Soon, she shall leave to become the leader of an arling, where I have no doubt that she will rule with wisdom."

"And you, good Ser? Will you let her go alone to this arling?"

Zevran cupped her delicate face between his hands and touched his forehead to hers. "She will never be alone again, _querida_. Where she goes, I will follow and fight gladly by her side. My heart, _mi còrazon_, my soul, _mi alma_, they belong to her forever." His arms circled her waist and he drew her into a passionate kiss. As the celebration continued around them, they lost themselves in the kiss, two hearts that had finally found freedom in giving themselves to each other.

* * *

_So ends the tale of Emberlin Amell and Zevran Arainai. I had planned a sequel that takes place after Awakenings, but then I got involved with my other series, Twilight in Thedas. I may yet write the sequel after "Twilight" is completed._

_I would like to thank everyone who submitted reviews and added this story as an alert or favorite. This tale would never have been finished if it weren't for all of you. This was my first attempt at writing a series, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Extra special thanks go to my beta, zevgirl, who not only corrects my grammar but offers encouragement as well. Dareth Shiral._


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